


All the Things Left Unsaid

by crispierchip



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Career Ending Injuries, Concussions, Developing Relationship, Family, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, M/M, Mild Internalized Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:42:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 75,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispierchip/pseuds/crispierchip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff sees the hit on his phone</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Things Left Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Hockey Big Bang 2015
> 
> I've had this idea in my head for a long time, and it took a lot of different shapes before it finally ended up like this. This story is set in 2020-21 [I know, that's a long time from now], and Mike Richards is playing for the Columbus Blue Jackets, because if I was going to have it my way, I was going to go for maximum irony. Also, it is set in an alternate universe, where everything is basically the same, except Jeff Carter gets married to his OFC wife in 2011, has two kids with her, and gets a divorce in 2018. 
> 
> Many thanks to:
> 
> grayraincurtain, for going above and beyond and looking at draft after draft of this story, and for making an absolutely [amazing podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5152574) which I highly recommend you all listen to. To add to her greatness, she didn't run for the hills after seeing the word count, which I appreciate a great deal. 
> 
> ionthesparrow, for making this a better story, and for also not running for the hills after I said "so, I have this story, it will be 50 thousand words long" and it turned out I was lying. 
> 
> Chie, for telling me I could do this in increasingly creative ways.
> 
> my friend E, who knows very little about fanfiction and even less about hockey, but let me whine over the phone for hours. 
> 
> and you, for reading :)
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings in the end notes.

Jeff sees the hit on his phone.

He’s just sitting in his car, waiting for Dylan to come out of the rink, when he gets the game-center notification. He glances out the window but practice doesn’t seem any closer to being done than it did ten minutes ago, so Jeff swipes his thumb over the screen of his phone.

His eyes catch on _Mike Richards_ and _concussion_ , and he doesn’t bother with the rest of the text before he’s pressing play on the attached video.

He turns off the radio in the car just in time to hear the Jackets’ commentator start to narrate the play, the turnover at the red line and Mike sprinting down the ice, too quick to avoid the white jersey crashing into his side. Even in the small screen of his phone, Jeff can see the moment when Mike loses his skate edge, loses his balance and starts careening into the boards, crashing head first a few seconds later.

Jeff cringes at the same time the commentator hisses, then sits up straighter, fingers twisting around his phone when Mike doesn’t make any move to get up. He just lies there in an awkward sprawl of limbs, blinking up at the arena lights like he doesn’t quite know where he is. The video is obviously not in real time, but Jeff still holds his breath while the trainer rushes over to Mike’s side, starts to feel around his neck.

They show the hit again then, in slow motion this time, while the broadcasters argue over whether or not it was a blindside hit, and whether or not Ellison should get a game misconduct. Jeff tries to speed up the clip and realizes his fingers have gotten sweaty, slipping on the screen. By the time the camera swifts back to Mike, there are six or seven people on the ice, preparing the stretcher, while the trainer tries to stabilize his neck.

The video cuts off after that, and Jeff swallows a few times because his throat has suddenly gotten dry. He doesn’t know quite what he expected, but that was most definitely a video of Mike getting a concussion. Getting carried off the ice. On a stretcher.

Jeff jumps when he hears the tap on the passenger’s side window, then relaxes when he sees it’s just Dylan, and pops the trunk for him. He starts the car and turns up the heat a little, knowing Dylan’s hair will probably still be wet because a hairdryer is apparently too much effort for a nine year old, and wipes his hands on his jeans. They still feel sweaty when he wraps them around the steering wheel, and his phone feels heavy where he left in his lap.

“Hey, dad,” Dylan says, settling himself in the front seat. His hair is predictably wet.

Jeff tries to do the math in his head. It’s eight o’clock here, so it should be eleven in Columbus, which means the game should have ended about an hour ago. He can’t remember what period the video was from, but an hour is probably enough for Mike in the hospital by now. They probably took him to the hospital, after all.

“Dad?” Dylan asks, hand hovering by Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff shakes his head, moves a hand down to grip his knee. “Yeah, sorry, bud, what’s up?”

“I asked if you’re okay?” Dylan says. His eyebrows are drawn together a little, and he’s biting his lip.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Jeff says quickly, because this isn’t—Dylan probably doesn’t even remember Mike. “But you’re gonna have to move to the back, buddy.”

Dylan scoffs, gearing up for an argument. “I have the seatbelt on.” He’s still lisping a little from his new braces, and even though the dentist keeps assuring them that it will go away with time, Jeff thinks it’s kinda cute.

“And the backseat is waiting for you,” Jeff points out, gives Dylan an expectant look until he concedes to switching seats.

“What’s this?” Dylan asks when Jeff’s pulled out of the parking lot.

Jeff glances at the rearview mirror and seen him looking at the foil covered platter on the backseat next to him. “Cooking class,” he says. Today was chicken casserole, which Jeff already knew how to make, but he’s still proud of the end result. “Hey,” he says when he sees Dylan trying to lift the foil. “Wait till we get home.”

“But I’m hungry,” Dylan gives him what Jeff is pretty sure is the equivalent of puppy dog eyes, and it’s not like Jeff’s moved by that or anything.

“You’ll still be hungry twenty minutes from now,” he says, because eating in the car is instilling bad habits, and according to Kaylin, letting the kids in the car would make Jeff the good cop in their good cop/bad cop custody routine. Jeff, to his defense, he missed out on a big part of their lives before he retired, and sometimes, he still finds himself fumbling for the right thing to say or do, or how to take care of them, so he thinks some good cop ammunition would go a long way. Kaylin insists though, that bribing is not the way to go here.

Dylan has crossed his arms on his chest and is pointedly looking out the window now, so Jeff is inclined to argue with Kaylin. “How was practice?” he tries.

Dylan turns his head even further towards the window.

Jeff sighs. Traffic forces him to slow the car down to a crawl as they approach the highway. He thinks this is probably the first time he’s ever been grateful for LA’s traffic patterns, because he lacks the mental capacity to handle anything over 20 miles per hour with a kid in the car right now.

“So, practice sucked?” Jeff tries again. He wonders, not for the first time, how Kaylin did this practically on her own for seven whole years.

Dylan stays quiet but after a few minutes he says, “We got to practice special teams today.”

Jeff nudges at Dylan to continue, and from there it doesn’t take a lot until Dylan’s talking Jeff’s ear off about his coach and his new centerman, and the new goalie kid that started practicing with them last week. Jeff is more than a little relieved at how quick Dylan is to let go of things, and listening to him talk is a good enough distraction from Mike.

When they get home, Chris is sitting at the breakfast counter, and he barely glances up from the piece of paper he’s bent over for long enough to say hello. Jeff can see Dylan drooling as he sets the casserole on the counter, so he tells him go wash his hands.

“I already took a shower,” Dylan grumbles, but he heads off to the direction of the bathroom before Jeff can point out that the shower doesn’t count towards hand-washing.

Jeff walks over to Chris then and ruffles his hair, tries to discreetly check what he’s working on.

“It’s a fish,” Chris explains, moving back a little so Jeff can take a look.

Jeff nods, running his fingers through his beard. “It’s really nice. We can put it up on the fridge once you’re done, eh?” he suggests, hoping he gets it right, because he wants to sound encouraging but not suffocating.

Chris shrugs. “Sure.” Jeff isn’t quite sure where exactly that falls on the spectrum of encouraging to suffocating, but he’s willing to take it.

“Where’s Jules?” He asks, turning around to check the living room.

Chris lifts his hand to point at the direction of the pantry, and Jeff winces at the blue streaks covering his palms.

“Yes, here, I’m here Mr. Carter, sorry,” Jules says, peeking her head out from behind the pantry door. “I was trying to put some stuff back.”

“It’s okay,” Jeff says quickly, just in time for Dylan to shuffle back in the kitchen.

“Can we finally eat now?” he asks, and Jeff takes pity on him and starts taking out some dishes. He asks Jules if she’s staying, but she and her roommates have plans for a movie night, so Jeff sets the table for three.

“Do you want me to give you some food to take with you, then?” he suggests. Jules starts shaking her head, but Jeff can see her resolve wilting when he peels back the foil from the casserole and the kitchen fills with the smell of melted cheese.

“Just… you know, not too much or anything,” she says, smiling.

Jeff takes out a plastic container from over the sink and serves what he assumes will be enough for Jules and her roommate. “Just make sure to bring it back,” he says. God knows Jeff has lost enough stuff to Tyler and his ineptitude when it comes to anything resembling adult responsibility. Then again, Jeff trusts Tyler with his kids on a biweekly basis, so he isn’t sure what that says about him.

“Chris, hands,” Jeff says after he’s walked Jules out.

Chris glances at his hands, still blue with ink, and says, “They’re fine.” before wiping them on his jeans.

Jeff feels just a small part of his soul die thinking of how he’ll have to remove that stain later. “Please.”

Chris sighs but he hops off the stool and drags his feet over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands.

By the time they sit down to actually eat dinner, Jeff isn’t all that hungry, and he keeps playing around with his food rather than putting it in his mouth, which earns him very judgmental looks from both Chris and Dylan. Jeff thinks that’s fair, but he keeps glancing at the clock, and the image of Mike getting carried off the ice on a stretcher is still in the back of his mind, eating away at him.

He tells himself he should wait until the kids are done, and then he can call Mike and see how he’s doing, but then he remembers, very vividly, the look in Mike's eyes as he was lying on the ice, and he figures Mike is probably not doing super well right now.

“Are you done with your homework?” Jeff asks, once both Dylan and Chris are finished with their dinner.

They both nod dutifully, and Jeff reminds them they have to be in bed by nine before letting them go upstairs.

The kitchen feels a little quiet when Jeff’s left alone, and he stalls by doing the dishes in the sink instead of stuffing them in the dishwasher. He wipes down the counter afterwards, and rubs at the blue stains on the breakfast bar until the granite is clear again. He thinks about cleaning up or organizing the fridge, but he knows he’s just stalling for time and it’s not like it’s going to make any difference if he calls an hour from now instead of right now.

Finally, he decides to walk out on the deck, just to make sure he won’t be overheard, and his thumb hovers, just for a moment, over Mike’s contact. He takes a deep breath that’s full of salt, and presses call. There’s no answer for the first four rings, and Jeff has a moment of panic because what if Mike’s asleep? Surely they gave him some painkillers before sending him home, or maybe they didn’t even send him home. Jeff isn’t sure what the protocol is in cases like these because Mike, he always skated off on his own before.

He’s about to hang up, maybe try again later, when the ringing finally stops. “Hello?” Mike—no, that’s definitely not Mike’s voice, it’s too deep for that, but it is familiar.

“Richie?” Jeff tries, still, moving the phone away from his ear for a second to make sure he’s got the right number.

“No, uh… this is Ryan, Ryan Johansen?”

Jeff splutters for a moment because he hadn’t prepared for someone else picking up—maybe other than Maggie—but he probably should have. “Oh, ugh…” He feels abruptly embarrassed for calling now, even though Johansen doesn’t know him well enough to judge him. Maybe Jeff shouldn’t have called.

“You’re Carter, right?” Johansen sighs. He sounds tired and Jeff can make out some sort of speaker in the background, like in a hospital.

Jeff clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, I was calling to see—I mean, I wanted to know how Richie’s doing? Like, is he okay?” He winces at how awkward he sounds and hopes Johansen can’t tell, even though Johansen’s sense of hearing is not inexistent, so that’s doubtful.

“They’re holding him for forty-eight hour observation. At the hospital,” Johansen pauses for a minute. “Look, I’m not sure how much I can tell you?”

That stings a little, more than Jeff expected, being left out like that, but he supposes Johansen is right. “Yeah, yeah,” he hurries to say. “But just. There’s nothing… you know,” he doesn’t know how to put it, doesn’t know how to say things like cranial bleeding, or fracture, or brain damage without cringing. Without making them real.

Johansen sighs again, deeper this time. “You saw the hit, right? That’s why you’re calling?”

Jeff swallows. He turns to look further down the beach. Mike sold his house after leaving LA, but he used to live only a few minutes from here. “Yeah, I saw the video,” he says, because he figures Johansen is probably waiting for an answer.

“It’s a concussion. That’s what they’ve told us,” Johansen says, voice suddenly thin. “They said nothing permanent, but they’re still holding him.”

Jeff breathes out for what feels like the first time after seeing that video. He knows that what Johansen just said isn’t exactly good news, but it’s better than what Jeff had before, and certainly better than letting the possible scenarios fester in his head. “Thanks. For telling me,” he says, because Johansen didn’t have to.

On the other end of the line Johansen chuckles, dry. “Telling you was easier than telling his mom, trust me.”

Jeff has no trouble believing that. “Sucks, man. Is she flying down?”

“Yeah, she’s gonna be here tomorrow.”

“Richie’s just gonna love that,” Jeff mumbles. Mike would most likely rather chop off his own arm before actually admit to needing help, especially from his family.

Johansen snorts, so he probably gets Jeff’s point. “Not like he can stay on his own.”

“Well, isn’t Maggie there?” Jeff asks. He checks his watch to make sure it’s not past the kids’ bedtime.

There’s a long silence on Johansen’s end, and then he asks, “Maggie?”

“Yeah, like, Maggie. You know his—”

“Ex?” Johansen fills in. “Who moved to New York five months ago. And took the bed frame with her.”

Oh. Jeff feels like that’s an appropriate response because he doesn’t even know where to tackle that first. “The bed frame?” he settles on, and this isn’t the most eloquent moment of his adult life.

“I know right? Just take the whole bed,” Johansen groans, like he’s been over this before. “I mean, now it’s just a mattress in the middle of the bedroom and it’s fucking sad.”

Jeff doesn’t know what to say to that exactly, still stuck on how Maggie apparently moved to a different state and how Mike obviously had neglected to mention that to Jeff. And it’s not as if he and Jeff talk on the phone all the time anymore, having heartfelt conversations, but they talk enough for Mike to mention _that_. “Ugh, yeah,” Jeff says, for lack of anything better.

“Alright, Carter,” Johansen sighs. “I gotta go. Me and the boys are drawing straws to figure out shifts.”

“Yeah, sure, just let him know—”

“I’ll let him know you called. See you later,” Johansen hangs before Jeff can say anything else, not that Jeff had anything substantial ready to go off the top of his head.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t get a call back from Mike, which he tells himself is absolutely normal, because the doctors most likely instructed Mike very carefully to stay away from screens, and Mike was never the best patient, but maybe that’s improved over the years.

Jeff doesn’t get another call from Johansen either, and that’s normal, too. Johansen is too busy tacking the beginning of the hockey season, and Jeff hasn’t played hockey is almost three years but he remembers it being fairly busy, so he probably doesn’t have time to reassure Jeff.

And Jeff, he gets all that, it’s all part of the NHL. But he’d also like to know what is going on, since it’s not like google is particularly helpful.

The Blue Jackets issue a press release two days after the hit, but it’s nothing Jeff didn’t already know, just that Mike suffered a concussion, and given his history, they won’t be pushing his return. And that’s what they call it: history. They don’t actually reference the concussions, and they don’t actually mention how long the recovery period for each was. They don’t say anything about consequences of multiple head injuries.

Mike doesn’t either. That’s how it works.

Jeff grips his knee a little harder, until he feels the familiar throb, just to make sure everything's okay.

A few hours after he reads the press release, he gets Mike’s text.

_thanks for calling  
im doing better_

Jeff is ready to text him back something like “good enough to be messing around on your phone” but his phone vibrates again with another text.

_i have jack johnson texting for me_

Jeff smiles, a little, more relief than anything. He thinks about texting back something about Maggie, or some crack about the sad, frameless bed, but he ultimately settles on:

_no problem  
get better soon_

It feels a little lacking, just like Mike’s _history_ , but it’s the best Jeff’s got.

 

 

 

Mornings are the busiest part of Jeff’s day when he has the kids staying with him, if only because coordinating a barely awake six year old and nine year old require amounts of patience Jeff was not aware he had at his disposal before the divorce.

He’s making up Chris’s and Dylan’s sandwiches for lunch when Dylan says, “There’s bacon here.”

Jeff turns around and finds Dylan poking at his omelet with extreme distrust. Bacon is kind of the point in omelet, in Jeff’s humble opinion. “Okay,” He says, drawing it out.

“Bacon is made of lambs, right?” Dylan says, in a tone like Jeff’s the one being weird here.

“Ugh… no?” Jeff tries. This feels like one of the parenting moments he really shouldn't screw up. “Bacon is made of pigs.”

“Pigs are animals,” Dylan says, undeterred apparently.

“Sure,” Jeff hazards, starting to wrap up their lunch.

Dylan sighs and lets go of his fork so it clatters against the plate. “We can’t eat animals, dad.”

Jeff tries to think really hard about what the appropriate response here would be, since he doesn’t want to permanently scar his child or anything, but Chris beats him to the punch. “We ate chicken yesterday,” he points out, stabbing his omelet with his fork and raising it to his mouth so he can start eating it off from there.

Dylan rolls his eyes with all the authority a nine year old can muster. “Chicken is a bird, duh.”

“Birds are animals, duh.” Chris parrots, not even looking away from his food. There are little pieces of omelet and bacon falling all over the counter and—probably—his clothes.

Dylan flinches, pushes his chair away from the table. “No, they’re not!”

“Yeah, they are,” Chris argues, sounding bored. “Dad, tell him birds are animals.”

“Uh…” Jeff would much rather stay out of this, maybe let Kaylin handle it. He thinks about calling her, real quick, but she’d probably laugh in his face and hang up on him.

Jeff is really about to come up with something diplomatic here when Chris drops the rest of his breakfast on himself. “Oh, no,” Chris says, genuinely sad for a moment before he shrugs and starts picking up all the egg pieces from his jeans to dump them back on plate.

Dylan starts laughing at him, the bird argument forgotten. Jeff shoots him a look because he doesn't want Chris to start crying on top of everything right now.

“Okay, let me see.” Jeff says, and has Chris stand up so he can take a look at the damage. “That’s unsalvageable,” He decides, because oil stains are not acceptable for school. “Wait a minute,” He says when he takes a look at Chris’s shirt, too. “Is that mustard?”

“No it’s not,” Chris tries to squeeze his hands in the bottom of his shirt to cover it up but that’s for sure mustard. Chris doesn’t even like mustard. “It’s clean.”

Jeff can see the stain right there. “Go upstairs and change your shirt. And your jeans. And, Dylan, go make sure he changes his shirt and his jeans.” He instructs, a sense of pride swelling in his stomach when both of them start to hustle upstairs.

In the end, the three of them manage to get in the car only three minutes behind schedule, and Jeff has to hand them each a breakfast bar to eat on the way over, but they get to school before the bell rings, so he’s ready to count it as a win for the team.

He’s stuck in traffic on his way back to the house when his phone starts ringing. It’s not a number he recognizes, and he usually avoids answering those as much as he can, but it’s a Columbus area code and there’s not a whole lot of people in Columbus, Ohio who would like to talk to him. “Hello?”

“Uhm, hey, this is Ryan Johansen, we spoke on the phone a few days ago. I got your number off Richie’s phone.” Johansen says, all in a rush.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I remember,” Jeff switches the phone to speaker and puts it on the dashboard. “Is everything—”

“I actually wanted to ask you a favor,” Johansen cuts him off. He doesn’t sound tired like last time, but all his words are coming quickly, like he’s nervous.

“Okay?” Jeff has no idea what kind of a favor Johansen could possibly need from him, except if it’s something concerning Mike.

“So, Richie’s mom is leaving,” Johansen says.

“Yeah?” Jeff privately thinks that’s a little soon, but he’s not there with Mike and he hasn’t spoken to him on the phone, so maybe it was one of those things that looked worse than it was. “That’s good, right? He’s feeling better?”

“Ugh, no, not so much,” Johansen says, careful. “I think they had a fight, I’m not sure. But. I just. We had a vote and we decided we should call you first.”

A vote? “A vote? What kind of vote? Like… what?”

Johansen huffs, clearly annoyed, probably at Jeff’s inability to keep up, but it’s not like he’s being all that helpful. “We, the team. We voted on who we should call and you won the majority vote, congrats. Even though I didn’t vote for you. I just want you to know that,” he is careful to point out.

Jeff isn’t sure if he should thank him right now or what.

“Anyway,” Johansen goes on before Jeff can say anything. “We were just going to ask if you could fly out here. For just a few days. Because we have to go on this road trip on Tuesday, and it’s five games, and he… it’s just not good, okay?”

The first thing that comes to Jeff’s mind once Johansen’s finished, is that Mike wasn't there. He knows it’s not fair to think like that—it’s petty and unreasonable, but it’s still the first thought that occurs to him. Because Jeff woke up in a hospital bed with a painkiller drip sticking out of his hand for the second time in ten months and Mike was nowhere to be seen. Mike had sent him flowers.

He’s a little embarrassed to admit that taking care of Dylan and Chris is the second thing that comes to him, not that he’s planning to say any of that out loud.

“Carter? Are you there?”

Jeff swallows, turns up the heat in the car a little bit. “Joha—Ryan, look. I--”

“No, no, I get it,” Johansen says quickly, cutting him off. “That’s okay.”

Jeff’s mouth feels suddenly dry. “No, I want to come, it’s just…”

“It’s okay, man. Listen, I have to go anyway. See ya.”

Jeff just stares at the trunk of the car in front of him for a minute. It’s a white car and the rear windshield is covered in dust. The owner probably needs to wash it.

Johansen didn’t sound angry, is the thing, or even disappointed, which was what Jeff expected. Not even surprised. Johansen sounded like he expected this, like it was nothing new. And Johansen didn’t vote for Jeff. Maybe that’s because he knew what Jeff’s answer was going to be.

Jeff isn’t even friendly with Johansen, had barely talked to him after he left Columbus. Johansen’s opinion shouldn’t matter to Jeff. But here Jeff is, staring at the dirty car in front of him because Ryan Johansen wasn’t even surprised.

Growing up, Jeff had it drilled into him that living up to expectations was a good thing, something to work towards, and exceeding them, well, that was even better.

He’s pretty sure that doesn’t apply to how he just lived up to Ryan Johansen’s expectations, because Jeff has heard enough from Mike to know that he and Johansen are close, and maybe Johansen’s expectations reflect Mike’s, just a little. Maybe Mike wouldn’t vote for Jeff either.

But that’s just ridiculous, probably just Jeff being paranoid, and who even cares about Johansen’s vote.

Jeff, to his great disappointment, discovers that he does.

 

 

 

The phone call is still eating at him a few hours later, when Kaylin comes by the house to pick up the kids’ stuff. Jeff hugs her at the door, then asks her if she’d like anything to drink.

“If I want something I’ll take it myself,” She says, grinning a little. Jeff is just glad that after less than two years of being divorced they’re back at the stage where she feels like she can freely bitch at him.

He shakes his head at her and then goes upstairs to bring the clothes that he’s already packed, and all the school supplies and books. This part feels a little horrible every time, not just because Jeff is reminded that he’s gonna have to spend another week alone for all intents and purposes, but also because he’s basically uprooting Dylan and Chris’s life and driving it a few blocks down the street. He sees the blue stuffed fish on Chris’s bed and makes sure to put that in the suitcase as well.  

When he comes back downstairs, Kaylin is in the middle of a scavenger hunt in Jeff’s fridge. “Can I help you with anything?” he says, moving to lean against the doorframe.

“I’m just looking for those cookies you make, with the chocolate? Do you have any of those?”

Jeff smiles, walks past her to grab the box he’d packed for her last night. “Here you go. Fresh. But, you know, save some for the kids.”

Kaylin slaps his shoulder with the back of her hand, but she happily digs into the cookies. “You know, you’re making me look bad with all your nice cooking.”

“That’s no hard feat or anything,” he mumbles. Kaylin gives him a look that expresses just how funny she thinks he is. “And the cooking classes have to pay off somehow,” he says.

“How’s that going by the way?” Kaylin asks. She’s the one who had suggested cooking class in the first place, and Jeff had originally thought cooking class would be kind of a strange hobby but he’s come to look forward to it now.

Jeff tells her about the middle aged ladies in his class, and the college kids who signed up last week because they wanted to learn how to feed themselves now that they’re away from home, and the new roasting technique the instructor showed them last time. He can tell Kaylin wants to laugh him, but she doesn’t, and he appreciates that, even though sometimes he wants to laugh at himself.

He asks her about her job afterwards, and she’s happy to blab on about the new project she’s working on, something about soda cans and making them more appealing, which sounds a little interesting to Jeff, but certainly not enough so to warrant her level of enthusiasm.

“So, really, you wanna talk about it?” She asks once she’s recapped everything that’s happened in the last five days at her office, including one of the editors throwing a baby shower.

“Talk about what?” Jeff tries, doesn’t even know why he bothers with the look Kaylin gives him. “Richie got hit pretty bad last week,” He says. He tells her about his phone call with Johansen and about Mike’s mom, but leaves out the part about his feelings toward Johansen and his opinions. “He asked me to fly over there.”

Jeff watches as Kaylin’s face shifts from sympathy to carefully contained annoyance, and she says, “Please, Jeff, don't tell me you’re asking for my permission.”

“What? No!” Jeff says, “You asked,” he tries not to sounds defensive about it but, well, he is.

“And this sounds a lot like you want me to tell you to go, which would be a real asshole move here, Jeff.” She points out, and yeah, the way she’s putting it, it does make him sound like an asshole.

“That’s not… ugh, forget about it.” Jeff mumbles, walking over to the fridge for a bottle of water.

It’s a few minutes until Kaylin says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you like that.” It sounds like a line out of the marriage counselor handbook, and it surprises a chuckle out of Jeff, even though those eight or nine appointments were undoubtedly painful to sit through.

“Do you think I should go?” he asks when the air between them doesn’t feel so thin anymore.

Kaylin sighs and comes to sit across from him at the kitchen table. “Do you want to go?” she asks instead.

Jeff feels like that’s not the important question here—that’s more along the lines of, does he _need_ to go—but he wants to see Mike. They haven’t seen each other since last February, and Jeff misses him, if he’s pressed to admit so. And he hates this interim between the injury and the return—the recovery—where he just doesn’t _know_.

“Yeah. I want to go,” he says, feels a little bad admitting out loud.

Kaylin purses her lips. “How long?” she asks.

“A week?” Jeff offers. Then, because he needs to be honest with her, “Maybe two?”

Kaylin is clearly not happy with this, and she tells Jeff so. “You know I hate messing with their schedules,” she says.

“I know. I hate that too,” Jeff is quick to say. “But I wouldn’t be going if it weren’t important,” he says, because clearly, somewhere along this conversation, Jeff’s decided that he’s going to Columbus.

“Okay,” Kaylin says after a few minutes, and Jeff tries to keep his shoulders from shagging in too obvious of a relief. “You’ve done the same for me enough times. “Just make sure to talk to the kids before flying out, okay?” It’s not really a question, not really a suggestion either, and Jeff nods.

“Of course,” he says.

 

 

 

Jeff books a ticket to Columbus on the earliest flight out tomorrow morning and leaves it open ended. He doesn’t want to be overly optimistic, doesn’t want to pack for three days, but he doesn’t want to pack for two weeks either. He doesn’t think Johansen was lying about Mike, no, Jeff saw the hit himself, but he doesn’t want to make this more awkward than it has to be. And anyway, Jeff’s pretty sure Mike owns a washing machine.

Later, he calls Kaylin and arranges to come by her house so he can talk to the kids, just let them know where he’ll be. Neither of them remembers Mike, and Jeff doesn’t want to be too graphic in his description of what happened in the first place, so he keeps it vague, and makes sure to let them know what they can talk on the phone.

Dylan doesn’t look particularly bothered by any of it, except for the fact that Jeff will have to miss his game this weekend. “Maybe mom can make a video and I can watch that, hm?” he suggests, which seems to appease Dylan.

Chris is more quiet, and he waits until Dylan’s left to work on his homework before asking, “So, is your friend gonna be okay?”

Jeff doesn’t how he’s supposed to answer that. He doesn’t want to lie, but at the same time, he doesn’t know how to breach the subject of traumatic brain injuries with his six year old son, who cried after the one time that he visited Jeff in the hospital. “Mike is tough,” He settles on, and it’s the truth because Mike is one of the toughest people Jeff knows.

Chris doesn’t look convinced, but after a couple of minutes he jumps off his bed and walks over to his desk. He starts rummaging through a pile of papers until he finds what he’s apparently looking for, and then brings it over to Jeff. “Here. It’s a fish. For your friend.”

“I can see that, buddy. It looks really good,” Jeff says, reaches out to ruffle Chris’s hair. “I bet he’ll like it.”

Chris tries to duck away from him, then shrieks when Jeff presses his fingers into his ribs. Jeff keeps tickling him until Kaylin has to come in and tell them to “Please, children, keep it down.”

 

 

 

He’s walking back to his house when he remembers he should probably call Johansen, just to let him know he’s coming. He doesn’t know if Johansen called someone else after Jeff said no, but he hopes he didn’t, even if that’s a little self-centered, admittedly.

Johansen, needless to say, does not sound happy to hear from him. “What?”

“Uhm… are you, like, busy right now?” Jeff hazards, cringing at how nervous his voice is.

Johansen sighs, like talking to Jeff is such a hardship. “No. No, I’m watching a movie.”

“Okay,” Jeff says, “I mean, I just wanted to let you know that my flight is tomorrow morning.”

Johansen is quiet for a second, then the background noise, presumably the TV, cuts off. “Your flight?”

“To Columbus, you know,” Jeff says, “Unless. I mean, if you called someone else…” He trails off.

“Uh, no. I tried his brothers but. Matt was in Europe, or something, and Mark couldn’t take time off work.” Johansen says, and he sounds mildly less annoyed at having to talk to Jeff. “What time does your flight come in? I’ll come pick you up if we don’t have practice.”

Jeff thinks that’s kinda nice of him, and he texts Johansen his flight information once he gets home.

_okay. well be there._

He doesn’t quite specify who the _we_ refers to, but it sounds strangely intimidating.

 

 

 

 

_We_ turns out to mean Ryan Johansen, Jack Johnson and Brandon Saad—all of whom are waiting for Jeff in the arrivals terminal. They’re wearing dark sunglasses and their hats are pulled down halfway to their noses. They stand with their arms folded, whispering to each other. All three of them look extremely tall. All three of them are extremely muscular.

Basically, all three of them look like they could easily take Jeff down if it came to it. Jack Johnson is the first to spot him and says, “Hey, you made it,” in a tone that doesn’t fail to fully encompass his surprise at Jeff’s arrival.

Jeff frowns. “Did you think the plane was going to crash or something?”

Johansen snorts, mumbling, “Something like that.”

Saad kicks him in a way Jeff supposes could be called discreet. “Anyway,” Saad says, giving Johansen a pointed look. “We’re glad to have you.”

Jeff is too tired to deal with whatever that’s supposed to mean exactly, so he obediently follows the three of them out to the parking lot and Jack’s car. Saad gives Johansen another badly concealed look when he tries to get into the front seat, and then Johansen rolls his eyes and moves to sit in the back with Saad while Jeff takes the front.

It’s a little awkward in the car, by virtue of it being extremely quiet, and then Johnson asks, “So, Carter—Jeff—how is retirement?” He sounds like he means to be helpful is the thing, and Jeff knows it’s been long enough since he retired that he should be able to talk about it.

“Uhm… it’s good,” he says, tries not to sound as uncomfortable as he feels. “I mean, really good, you know. I get to spend time with my family.” It’s stupid to be disappointed by that, and really ungrateful, but Jeff would be seriously lying if he said he didn’t miss playing; being part of a team.

Johnson nods just as Saad asks, “Have you picked up any hobbies?”

Jeff privately thinks that’s a stupid question, and if Saad were closer to retirement he’d know better than to ask it. “I cook a lot,” he says.

He sees Saad’s impressed look in the rearview mirror, and sees him opening his mouth, probably another question about Jeff’s retirement, and decides to change the subject. “How about you guys? How’s the team?” he asks. Hockey is not his favorite thing to talk about, not anymore, but it at least doesn’t hurt as much as it used to two years ago.

Johansen’s face brightens up at the opportunity to talk about his team, and it shows that he’s proud of them. Jeff wonders when was the last time he looked like that talking about the Kings—talking about hockey in general. Definitely before his second knee surgery, probably before the first one even. “We got some new guys on the team but things are clicking,” Johansen says.

“Yeah,” Johnson nods. “And we started the season on a pretty good record too.”

“Lot of predictions have you going deep,” Jeff says. He’s not very involved in hockey anymore, but he likes to keep tabs on some teams and the Blue Jackets are admittedly right at the top of his list, even though he’d never expected that from himself.

“Hey, no!” Saad jumps in. “Don’t say that.” He sounds mildly mortified, and both Johnson and Johansen start shaking their heads.

“It’s a jinx,” Johnson says, extremely serious for a moment. Jeff wasn’t aware Johnson was superstitious, but maybe all the friendship with Crosby finally started rubbing off on him.

“Really? I mean—”

“Coach’s rules.” Johansen cuts Jeff off. “Knock your hand on the dashboard.”

Jeff gives him a questioning look. Is that dashboard even wooden—because it looks a little plastic to Jeff. “Come on, man, don’t mess with the playoff mojo,” Johansen warns, keeps looking at Jeff expectantly until Jeff knocks his knuckles on the dashboard three times.

“Happy?” Jeff asks, just to be sure.

“Playoff mojo,” Johansen says, like that explains everything.

Sutter wasn’t superstitious; his methods were more along the lines of, you know, just play the game and don’t fuck up, but Jeff can understand playoff mojo. He knocks another three times just to be sure and gets an appraising nod from Johnson in return.

Jeff’s been to Mike’s house in Columbus before, but the last time was three years ago for dinner after the Kings played the Jackets, and it looks distinctly different now. The front lawn is dried up and overgrown, littered with weeds and yellowing autumn leaves. The flowers in front of the porch and beneath the windows are a dull brown, shriveled up against the cold weather. It all looks a little bit sad. 

Johansen doesn’t ring the doorbell when they walk up to the front door, just takes out his phone and sends off a text. “Cam is on Richie watch,” he explains, “we try to keep is as quiet as we can.”

Oh. That makes sense, even though Jeff hadn’t thought about it. It’s probably bad, if the bell is too loud. Jeff swallows, tightens his fingers around the strap of his bag. There’s two bowls next to the porch, one filled with water and one with some sort of animal food, and Jeff notices them when he looks down. “What’s that?” he asks.

Johansen shrugs. “It’s for the cats,” he says, leaves it at that.

Jeff is about to ask for some sort of clarification when the door is pulled open and Atkinson all but hauls them inside. “Oh thank god,” he breathes out, relieved. “I think my sanity has been put to the test. Really.” He looks a little crazy around the eyes, and Jeff doesn’t him know well enough to say if it’s a common occurrence but it doesn’t look that way.

The hallway is dark, darker than it should be given that it’s still the middle of the day, but when he looks around, Jeff sees how all the blinds are drawn, barely any light filtering in.

“Bad?” Johansen frowns, but it’s sympathetic, not intimidatingly cold like the ones he gives Jeff.

Cam starts shaking his head, and then Mike shuffles out to the hallway, wearing a ratty pair of sweats that have absolutely seen better days and a Blue Jackets sweater. The skin around his eyes is stretched thin and his face is pale, still half hidden behind his beard. Mike has never been the most religious person when it came to hygiene, and Jeff lived with him long enough to attest to that, but the amount of oil in his hair is just a new level of ruggedness.

“What are…” Mike starts, and then he notices Jeff standing there, behind Johansen, and his eyes grow wide, lips parting. He doesn’t say anything for a full minute, and then he settles on, “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Look—” Johansen raises his hands, takes a couple of careful steps towards Mike, like he’s approaching a spooked animal.

“You called _him_ ,” Mike spits out, voice rising.

Jeff would like to point out that he has a name, but—“You didn’t tell him I was coming?” he asks, because that feels like the more pressing issue at the moment.

Mike scoffs, takes a step back. The corners of his mouth quirk but it doesn’t look like he’s finding any of this amusing. “First my mom, now _him_ , Joey? Really?”

Again, Jeff has a name, you know.

“Okay, first of all, I did not call him, he called me,” Johansen says, which is really not what happened, but Jeff thinks it would be for the best to let Johansen handle this. “Second of all,” he turns to face Jeff, “It’s not so much that I didn’t tell him, as he didn’t ask.”

That sounds like such an invalid point Jeff doesn’t even know where to start.

“And third, _Richie_ ,” Johansen turns back around, “It’s your own fault for making your mom leave.”

Mike’s lips pull back a little, baring his teeth. “I did not ask you to call anyone,” he hisses.

Jeff can’t place it but it feels like the air in the room has abruptly shifted and it makes him take a step back.

“Well, you didn’t have to,” Johansen says. Jeff can see how hard he’s trying to keep his voice down. “I did it anyway.”

Mike’s jaw clicks shut and he reaches out to grip the doorframe. His knuckles are white around it. If Jeff weren’t looking at him this closely, he’d miss the way Mike leans into the wall a little.

“Okay,” Saad steps between Johansen and Mike when both have been quiet for too long. “Let’s just—”

“No,” Mike shakes his head. “Let’s not.” His voice is quieter than before and Jeff wonders if he’s the only one who’s noticed it.

“No, why don’t we?” Johansen says, pointed, and he and Mike just stare each other until Mike pushes off the wall and gestures further down the hall. Johansen starts walking first, Mike following close behind him. Jeff doesn’t remember the house well enough to figure out where they’re going but it’s probably either the study or the back yard.

The four of them exchange looks with each other for a moment, then Cam says, “Should we…” gesturing down the hall.

Johnson sighs, shakes his head. “Nah, let them… they’ll deal with it on their own. Come on.”

Jeff puts his bag down under the coat rack and takes off his shoes before following the others into the kitchen. It’s brighter than the rest of the house, not by much though, and there’s another set of bowls by the fridge.

Jeff takes a seat at the table next to Cam, glancing back at the hallway. “They’re not gonna throw punches or anything, right?” he asks, only half kidding.

Johnson chuckles. “No. They do this. Sometimes.”

“Yeah, totally,” Cam agrees, trying to appease Jeff so obviously that it sort of defeats he purpose. “They push each other, you know.”

Jeff nods because he can’t do anything else, then glances back at the hallway; it’s been long enough. “Maybe, you know, maybe this was a bad idea,” he says, moves his hands to his knees. “I mean, he clearly doesn’t want me here. Maybe I should just.”

“No, no,” Cam says quickly, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Jeff’s arm. “You’re here now.”

“It’s Richie,” Saad says, “He doesn’t like asking for help. Even when he needs it.” His voice is soft, a contrast to how hard Cam’s holding onto Jeff.

Jeff still thinks this was a mistake. What were they thinking, asking him to come here without speaking to Mike first? What was Jeff thinking coming here? This is Mike’s house and Mike’s life, and things between them aren’t what they used to; Jeff can’t just barge in here any time he wishes anymore.

“You know him better than any of us,” Johnson says. That might have been true six years ago, but it’s not anymore, and Jeff wonders how Johnson could have missed that. “And you guys used to be really close or whatever. Just stick around for a couple of days and then, if you want to go, go.”

Jeff sighs, digs his fingers into his knees. There’s a bunch of hospital papers on the kitchen table that he hadn’t noticed before. “What’s this?” He asks, letting go of his leg so he can pick one up.

“It’s some prescriptions and, uhm…” Saad picks up some other papers. “Pamphlets and stuff.”

Jeff quickly shifts through the papers, even though he doesn’t understand most stuff. “This is a lot of warnings,” he says, trying to make it come out light and missing by a mile.

“Look at the lights, Carter,” Johnson says, cold for the first time since they met in the airport. “They’re not turned down because we like the atmosphere.”

Jeff swallows, stretches his legs under the table as far as he can. When he was lying in a hospital bed two years ago, looking at months of work and pain and rehabilitation, staring at retirement in the face, Kaylin was there, which is really all it comes down to. “Yeah. Okay,” he says. He puts the papers back on the table, face down so he doesn’t have to directly look at them.

Johansen walks in from the hall a few minutes later, his jaw not quite as set as before and his fingers hanging loosely at his sides instead of curled into fists. “Richie’s in the living room,” he says before one of them can ask. “He’s, uh, he’s not feeling so well.” His voice is quiet.

None of them says anything—Jeff isn’t sure if they’re supposed to—and Johansen heads to the fridge for a bottle of water. Jeff is looking at the pamphlets, hand still gripping one of his knees, when a big, black ball of fluff jumps on the table. Jeff jumps in his seat, gives a completely manly yelp. The ball of fluff turns to him with a very judgmental look. “That the hell is that?” Jeff hisses while trying to discreetly push his chair away from the table.

“Hey,” Cam admonishes. “Don’t be mean to the cat, man,” he says, reaches out to pick up said cat and place it in his lap.

Jeff moves a little further away. “The cat,” he repeats. “As in, Richie’s cat.”

Cam lifts an eyebrow, gives Jeff an unconvinced look. “Well, yeah,” he says. The cat starts purring when Cam scratches his fingers under its jaw. It’s kind weird how a cat of that size can produce such a loud noise.

Jeff nods. At least this would explain all the food bowls. “Richie…” he starts, still stunned a little by the existence of a cat that is clearly cohabitating with Mike. “Richie is a dog person.”

“Dude,” Cam moves his hands to the cat’s ears, like he’s trying to shelter it. “Come on.”

“Come on, what?”

“Don’t insult Snuggles,” Cam says.

Maybe this is all some kind of joke. “Snuggles? Its name is Snuggles.”

“It’s not an it, it’s a she,” Johnson points out, smiling wryly, so maybe he’s been over this before. “She’s the second one,”

Jeff blinks. “The second one?” he’s pretty sure this is a joke by now.

“Of the three,” Johnson explains.

As if on cue, another large cat trots into the kitchen then, starts rubbing itself all over Johansen’s calf. “This is Patches,” Johansen explains at Jeff’s mortified look. At least he sounds mildly happier now, and Jeff can kinda see the resemblance between the cat’s spotty fur and the name.

“You people are serious right now,” Jeff says, not really a question—as much as he’d like to be.

Johnson sighs and starts getting up from the table. “He went on a spree, man. You should be glad it’s only three.”

Mike Richards, former captain of the Philadelphia Flyers, went on a cat-adopting spree. Jeff feels like this would be an appropriate time to face plant on the kitchen table, but that’s probably covered in cat hair. He clears his throat instead, which seems like the more adult reaction. “The third cat is…?”

“Gordie,” Johansen fills in happily. He looks like he’s enjoying Jeff’s mild identity crisis. “He’s on the couch with Richie.”

“Gordie,” Jeff repeats, flat.

Saad takes pity on him and says, “He’s really tough. He can only see out of one eye.”

Jeff makes himself nod. It figures that Mike would have a one-eyed cat named Gordie. “Alright then,” he says, taking a deep breath. The cat—Patches—starts looking at Jeff’s calf like it’s prime filet, practically salivating with it, and then walks over to him. Jeff looks away, breathes out carefully once he feels the cat make contact with his jeans and tries to keep himself from making any sudden movements because that would be extremely mean on his behalf.

When he looks up, Johansen is smirking at him. “Good luck with Patches,” he says.

Jeff scowls, keeps his leg very still. Surely, the cat will tire of him at some point.

 

 

 

Their plane leaves later that afternoon, so the four of them can’t stick around for much longer. Before they leave, Johansen gives Jeff a very detailed list of things he has to watch out for, and another list of things to expect, then gives Jeff an oddly intense look before saying “Thank you for doing this,”.

Jeff swallows around the awkwardness between them, and nods when Johansen shows him the take out drawer in the kitchen. He also gives Jeff the address of a grocery store as well as the phone numbers for Mike’s team doctors and outside physicians. And the veterinarian for the cats. Of course.

He looks nervous when Jeff walks him to the door, and keeps running through his phone to check if there’s anything he’s forgotten. He reminds Jeff of Kaylin the first time she left the kids with Jeff for a whole weekend after the divorce so Jeff reassures him and gives him an awkward half hug at the door.

Once he’s on his own, Jeff doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do. He picks up his bag from the hallway and moves it to one of the guest rooms upstairs, but doesn’t unpack anything. He makes sure to leave a message for Kaylin at her office letting her know he arrived okay, but doesn’t mention the cats; he thinks Kaylin would make fun of him.

Afterwards, he heads back downstairs, carefully doesn’t look in Mike’s bedroom when he walks past it in the hall, even though the door is open. The living room smells kind of rank, and Mike is still sleeping on the couch. There’s a bottle of ibuprofen next to him on the coffee table, and a half empty bottle of water, and a reddish furball curled between Mike’s knees and the back of the couch.

Jeff wrinkles his nose at that. He tries to be quiet, but he feels distinctly creepy just standing there, watching Mike sleep, so he walks back to the kitchen and closes the door behind him in case the light bothers Mike. He thinks about cooking something to kill his time but when he opens the fridge there’s just plastic food containers and some bottles of water and Gatorade. There’s also mustard and ketchup, and some ice cream in the freezer but Jeff can’t do anything with those—not if he wants it to be edible.

Jeff sighs and sits back down at the kitchen table. He takes out his phone and opens the game Dylan likes to play, tries to beat his son’s high score.

 

 

 

Mike walks in the kitchen two hours later, bleary eyed and pale. He halts for just a second when he sees Jeff sitting at the table, and then he clears his throat. “You’re still here,” he says, which is pretty obvious, but he just woke up.

“Yep,” Jeff says, putting his phone away.

Mike opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it, opens it again. “You want anything to drink?” he walks over to fridge, squints against the light when he opens the door. “There’s water, and Gatorade. And, oh, there’s some orange juice.” He picks up the bottle and checks the bottom for the expiration date. “Nevermind. Better not drink the orange juice,” he says before putting the bottle back in the fridge anyway.

Jeff shakes his head. Back when they lived together, he’d had to throw away more than a few bowls of cereal because the milk had gone sour. “You’re supposed to throw that in the trash, you know,” he says.

Mike snorts and moves to sit across from him. “Look at you being all grown up.”

Jeff shrugs and for a few minutes they just stare at each other in the quiet.

“Look,” Mike starts. Jeff thinks he can tell where this is going. “I know Joey can be a little… pushy. If you wanna leave—”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to,” Jeff cuts him off.

Mike presses his fingers into his temple. “Yeah, but if you left, I’d get that,” he murmurs, blinking rapidly a few times.

Jeff tires to keep his voice down when he speaks again. “I came here because I wanted to,” he says, which isn’t exactly true, but it’s close enough.

Mike holds his eyes for a few seconds and then sighs before looking at the table. “So, how’s retirement going?”

Mike is not Brandon Saad, twenty-nine years old and still full ambition. Jeff doesn’t say anything until Mike looks up and meets his eyes.

“Fair enough.” Mike shrugs. “The kids?”

“Dylan still plays, still trying to figure out if he wants to play right wing or defense, and Chris is really into fish at the moment.” Jeff says. He lets out a breath he’d been holding probably since getting off the plane when Mike cracks a smile.

“Fish?”

Jeff grins and nods. He remembers the drawing he’d carefully packed in his suitcase before leaving LA and says, “Actually, wait a minute.”

He gets up and hurries up the stairs to the guest bedroom to get the drawing from his bag. When he comes back downstairs, Snuggles—and Jeff still can’t believe Mike actually named his cat Snuggles—has jumped on the table and is purring happily as Mike runs his fingers through its fur.

Mike’s skin is still pale, so it’s easy to tell that he blushes when he sees Jeff watching him.

“It’s for you,” Jeff says, holding out the piece of paper for Mike.

Mike looks surprised at first but after a few seconds he stops petting Snuggles so he can pick it up.

When Mike is quiet for a moment too long, Jeff says, “He doesn’t remember you, but I told him you hurt your head so.” He tries not to feel awkward about it.

Mike clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says. His voice is raspy, and Jeff pretends not to notice it.

Jeff doesn’t know what he expected Mike to do with the fish, but he’s surprised when Mike gets up and starts rearranging the magnets on the fridge so he can put it up, right next to a picture of Mike and Arnold with the Stanley Cup.

When Mike sits back down, his face is still flushed and he’s not meeting Jeff’s eyes. Jeff thinks this would be a good time to change the subject. “You hungry?” He asks. “Johansen made sure to tell when you keep the takeout menus.”

That makes Mike smile again, and Jeff relaxes just a little bit more. “Of course he did.” he mumbles. “But… ugh, I think I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Mike takes a deep breath. “My stomach is not really friendly today.”

That makes sense. “Didn’t they give you anything for the nausea?” Jeff asks, glancing at the prescription papers currently buried under Snuggles’ ass.

Mike starts rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t… they’re pretty strong so.”

There’s certain things Mike and he don’t talk about as a rule and it’s because neither of them wants to, or they don’t know how, or any combination of the two. This, Jeff doesn’t know how to talk about _this_ , and he’s pretty sure Mike doesn’t want to.

They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes until Mike says, “I’m pretty beat. You found the guest room and everything?”

Jeff is too stunned to do much else than nod, and then Mike’s walking away, leaning against the doorframe for a minute before heading back to the living room.  

Jeff lasts a whole ten minutes staring after Mike before getting up and decisively following him down the hall. When Mike hears him approaching, he lets out a long breath and throws his arm over his eyes but doesn’t otherwise acknowledge him.

“I know you’re not sleeping.” Jeff says, just in case Mike missed that.

Mike moves his arm off his face and breathes out again. “What?” He sounds bored and tired and Jeff just spent five hours on a plane to get here.

At first, Jeff doesn’t know where to start. The possibilities are a little overwhelming. Should he tackle the cat issue, the pill issue or the sad house issue. In the end, he doesn’t mention any of them. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Maggie broke up?”

Mike finally opens his eyes and gives Jeff an once over, like he can’t quite believe this is what Jeff’s going with. Jeff can’t quite believe it either, but it feels like the safest subject. “What do you care?” Mike asks, bitter.

“What are you talking about?” Jeff asks, moving past him to sit on the coffee table. It makes a protesting noise but it looks sturdy enough, so Jeff hopes he won’t be making a fool himself by breaking it.

Mike scoffs and closes his eyes again. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Jeff runs a hand through his hair, pulls at the strands a little so he doesn’t have to yell. Mike has always been able to push his buttons just a little bit harder than anyone else, and even after all these years of not talking to each other, at least not about the important things, that hasn’t changed.

Jeff is contemplating getting up and leaving, going out to get some fresh air—or some kind of air that doesn’t reek—when Mike says, “We didn’t break up. Technically. She dumped me. For a job.”

Mike and Maggie had been together since Mike was in LA, and after Mike signed with Columbus, she came out here to be with him, stayed, even though she hated it.

“And, I mean, we wanted different things.” Mike goes on, like every word is being pulled out of him. It probably is.

Jeff knows what that feels like. He nods, but Mike's eyes are still closed, so he says, “Yeah.”

Mike sighs, long and drawn out. “She wanted to go to New York, for a job. And the Islanders made me an offer—two years, but, you know. I like it here.” He shrugs into the pillows.

Jeff hated it here, and he was reminded of that very vividly every time someone brought up his time in Columbus. He’s not sure if he hated it because the Flyers sent him here and the Flyers were the only team he knew, or because he was forced to be away from Kaylin and all his friends, Mike included, but even now, he can’t say he likes it. “I was really surprised when you signed here, you know,” Jeff says.

“Yeah.” Mike chokes out a laugh. “I could tell. The first thing you told me was like, are you sure? You looked mildly terrified.”

Jeff _was_ mildly terrified. Mike had just gotten his contract terminated for a moral breach, Kaylin was on the most pregnant stage of pregnant with Chris, snapping at Jeff and the world over existing, and Jeff had to help Mike with packing while very carefully not talking about what was happening. It hadn’t been a very good time for any of the parties involved. “It turned out for the best though, right?” he says.

At first, when Mike had re-signed with Columbus, Jeff couldn’t quite believe it, but whatever made Jeff hate this place, had made Mike love it. And he’d won a cup here two years later and that couldn’t have felt bad.

“Yeah,” Mike says, a slightly dreamy tilt to his voice. “It’s a good group of guys.” He opens his again and turns to face Jeff. “Anyway,” Mike starts, and Jeff can see him swallow. “I wanted to stay here and adopt cats, and Maggie wanted to move out to New York. So, different things.” He sounds a little gruff, and very uncomfortable, the way he used to back before Jeff and he started living together in Philly, before they became best friends for all intents and purposes. Jeff isn’t quite sure when things between them shifted again.

Jeff shakes his head, then stills abruptly when he feels something rubbing against his ankle. “Ugh…” He frowns while Mike, like the asshole that he is, laughs at him.

“What’s the matter, Cartsy?” Mike asks, and Jeff doesn’t have to look at him to know Mike’s smirking all the way into his beard. “You don’t like cats?”

Jeff gives him a warning look while trying to discreetly move his legs out of the cat’s way.

Mike starts snickering, so apparently the look doesn’t work as well on him as one Dylan, but he looks less miserable for a second, so Jeff’s willing to take it. “What’s up with the cats anyway?” he asks, resigned; he isn’t sure he wants to know.

Mike rolls onto his side and scoots back further. He pats the freed up space along his stomach until the cat decides to jump on it and leave Jeff alone. “I found Gordie hiding under my car one afternoon, when I was gonna head to the rink, and he was in pretty bad shape so, you know, I couldn’t just.” Mike shrugs, lets the sentence hang in the air between them for a moment while he runs his fingers over Patches’ head. “I drove him to the shelter but they were full so they asked if I could keep him until a spot freed up, and I didn’t have any reason to say no.”

“So, let me guess,” Jeff starts, knowing. “No spots freed up since.”

“Well.” Mike smiles down at Patches. “I took him to the vet and stuff, and then I went to the rink and it was Game 4 against the Habs, and I had a Gordie Howe. I mean, I couldn’t give him back after that.” He says this like it’s completely reasonable, but the cat is named Gordie, so maybe it is.

Jeff manages to hold himself together for all of three seconds before putting his face in his hands and bursting out laughing, all the while trying to keep it down for the sake of Mike’s head.

Mike finally look up from his cat and rolls his eyes at him but he starts laughing too. “I know, I know, it’s weird. But he’s a really nice cat.” He sounds mildly protective, less self-conscious than Jeff’s seen him in a while now. Jeff is a little boggled that talking about his cats does that Mike nowadays. “So, he was the first?” he asks, just to keep Mike talking.

“Yeah.” Mike sighs. “We got eliminated by the Pens in the Conference Finals a couple of weeks later, and when the shelter called I ended up getting Patches, too.”

Jeff has to fight to keep his expression neutral for a minute, or at least some measure of neutral. Mike used to cope with playoff elimination by drowning himself in booze until he couldn't see straight, and Jeff, he used to do that, too. Now, apparently, Mike copes by adopting cats. Things could be worse. “Wow,” Jeff says, not judgmental or anything but Mike still snorts at him.

Patches jumps off the couch then, starts meowing pitifully while moving his ass towards the kitchen. Mike gives a long-suffering sigh and starts poking Jeff’s thigh with his toes. “Get up. We need to feed the cat,” he announces.

Jeff came here for Mike and his concussion. He absolutely did not come here to feed cats. He shares the second part with Mike only to have Mike keep poking at him.

“Your fat ass is gonna break the table if you don’t move soon anyways,” Mike mumbles and carefully starts to hoist himself up. He has to reach out and grab the back of the sofa to keep his balance, and Jeff almost tries to help him, but they’ve started to reach a tentative route now and Mike probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

Jeff says instead, “I’d be doing you a favor. It’s an ugly ass table anyway.” and stays a careful two steps behind Mike as they make their way to the kitchen.

“Hey, I picked that table,” Mike says. He reaches out to grab the edge of the counter and then bends over to pull one the cupboards open.

Jeff spots the large bag so cat food and steps in to pick it up. “I can tell,” he mumbles. A strong fishy smell attacks his nose as soon as he gets the bag open, and he makes a face.

“Don’t be a baby,” Mike says, pointing to the bowl by the fridge where Patches is waiting to be fed. “All the way to the top. I don’t want them to get hungry.”

 

 

 

The next day, Mike doesn’t come out of his bedroom until noon, and even then, it’s just to get a bottle of water from the fridge. He’s moving even slower than usual, one hand constantly braced against the wall until he can sit down. 

Jeff feels completely useless just watching him, so he asks, “You want anything to eat?”, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mike shakes his head. He folds his arms over the table and leans down to rest his forehead against them.

“I suppose you don’t want to come to the grocery store?” Jeff asks and gets a snort in response. “Anything in particular you need?” he already made a list on his phone, but he didn’t want to bother Mike about it, so it was mostly just guesswork.

Mike turns his head to the side so he can say, “Nah, whatever you want.” He sighs and starts getting up again. “Take my car though. The keys are on the table next to the door.”

Jeff nods and gets up too. “Thanks.”

_don’t crash it_ , Mike texts him, as Jeff’s pulling out of the driveway.

_don’t text_

 

 

 

When Jeff gets back, Mike is nowhere to be seen, so Jeff ends up just opening and closing cupboards and drawers to figure out where everything goes, which is how he stumbles across the pill bottles in the drawer under the cutlery. He stops for a second to check the hallway and then picks one of them up but doesn’t get any further than reading the label before he hears the sound of footsteps coming, followed closely by mewling. He tries to stuff the bottle back in the drawer, but his hand slips and it drops to the floor instead.

Mike is already there when Jeff bends to pick it up, eyes jumping between the drawer and Jeff’s face.

Jeff can see how this looks, and he thinks maybe he should say something, but before he can, Mike is picking the bottle out of his hand and putting it back in the drawer. “Richie,” Jeff starts.

Mike clears his throat and closes the drawer very carefully. “You need help putting these away?” he asks, slow.

Jeff nods. If Mike doesn’t want to talk about it, Jeff should just follow his lead. “Sure,”

They put everything away in silence, though it feels charged, like there’s something unsaid between them. Jeff doesn’t usually mind the quiet, especially not with Mike, but it just makes him uncomfortable now and he scrambles for something to say. “So,” he starts. “How’s your head?” he asks, because he figures they’re gonna have to talk about it sooner or later.

Mike turns to look at him and snorts. “How’s your knee?” he asks.

Jeff grinds his teeth and closes the fridge door with a little more force than necessary. “Peachy,” he says.

“Yeah, I can tell by the way you walk,” Mike mumbles, like he knows anything about Jeff and his knee, like he even bothered to ask before now.

Jeff resists the urge to shift his weight and just plants his feet in the ground a bit harder instead. “You could have visited, you know,” he says and tries not to let on how much he means it.

Mike huffs and turns around to face Jeff. He’s leaning against the counter and there’s a smile on his face, sneering. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Mike has a concussion and he’s gearing up for a fight, purposefully hitting Jeff where he knows it hurts, and Jeff knows that, he really does. He still asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?” mostly because he’s surprised Mike is choosing to bring _that_ up.

 

Mike taps his fingers against the granite countertop. “ _Your_ head works,” he says, pushing off the counter and starting to walk away. His exit would look more dramatic overall if his sense of balance weren’t fucked to pieces. “Figure it out,” he throws over his shoulder.

Jeff just stares after him for a full minute, trying to figure out how they got here. He jumps when he hears the loud bang of a door closing and shakes his head. The kitchen suddenly feels very quiet and very dark when Jeff’s left on his own. He thinks about following Mike, but he knows Mike’s angry and he’s angry too, so they’ll both end up saying something they’ll regret. And this is Mike’s house, and Mike’s got a concussion; Mike can’t just get up and leave. Jeff is supposed to be the bigger man here.

Jeff picks up his coat from the hall and puts on his shoes. He checks his pockets to make sure he still has the keys before opening the door.

It’s gotten dark out, even though it’s not too late, and it’s already chilly, so Jeff’s glad for his foresight. He starts walking down the street, sticking to a straight line because he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself by getting lost in Columbus and then having to call Mike for instructions on how to get back.

Mike’s neighborhood is nice, in the way standard suburban neighborhoods are, but it doesn’t feel like a place Mike would choose for himself. Which is not really Jeff’s business, so Jeff tries not to think about it too hard.

He circles the block a few times, figuring that’s safe enough for his directional skills, his mind mostly stuck on how cold Mike had sounded back at the house. Jeff isn’t sure why he was so surprised except for the fact that Mike and he don’t talk about _that_ , the time Mike got arrested. In fact, that’s high on the list of things they do not talk about, and up until now, Jeff thought it was out of mutual agreement. Jeff had never brought it up, but neither had Mike, so Jeff just assumed Mike didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.

But maybe—maybe Jeff should have insisted. Mike was the one under criminal investigation, the one without a contract for the upcoming season, the one whose life had been swept like a rug under their feet. Maybe Jeff should have been the one to bring it up. Jeff knows none of that really justifies Mike’s sad flower bouquet after Jeff announced his retirement, or his generic text that followed the flower bouquet, but he admits he could’ve handled the termination better.

Jeff sighs and starts walking back to the house, gets there just half an hour after he left. He finds Mike lying on the sofa again, arm thrown over his eyes. He twitches when he hears Jeff sit down on the other couch but doesn’t so much as open his eyes.

Jeff swallows, says, “I called you. You wouldn’t pick. The whole first week after the termination you wouldn't talk to me.” He doesn’t mention how he’d stopped trying after that until Mike came back to LA to pack his things and break the lease on his house.

Mike’s breath doesn’t change and his body doesn’t move. “I didn’t wanna know what you had to say,” he says, and his voice wavers, just a little.

Jeff remembers being angry when he first heard the news. They’d both worked so hard to get to where they were and Mike was prepared to throw all that away and for what, his pride? “I would have yelled,” Jeff says, “Probably.” It had taken him a few days after hearing the news to let go of that anger, and then months until he accepted, after seeing Mike in a Jackets uniform, that it was for the best.

Mike is quiet for a few seconds and then he moves his arm back to his side. “I didn’t need for you to yell.”

Jeff winces. He wouldn’t want to be yelled at either. “Sorry,” he says.

Mike sighs and opens his eyes, looking at the ceiling. “Me too,” he says. He rolls over on his side so he’s facing Jeff. “I knew. I knew you were gonna retire after the second knee injury. I didn’t wanna see it.” It sounds like a peace offering, sort of, and Jeff takes it.

He can see Mike’s point after all. Sort of.

“Hey,” Mike says, waits until Jeff meets his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He sounds genuine this time and Jeff feels abruptly relieved. He uncurls his fingers from the edge of the table. “And you decided to send flowers?” He asks, smirking a little so Mike will know he’s joking.

There’s a moment where Mike just stares at him and then he snorts out a laugh. “Hey, be glad there was no _Get Well Soon_ card involved.”

Jeff rolls his eyes and tries to move away from Mike’s poking toes.

“The florist shop did offer cards, just so you know,” Mike points out, like Jeff should be grateful that Mike declined.

“Of course they did,” Jeff mutters under his breath. “Hey. I’m hungry. What do you want?”

Mike frowns and finally moves his leg back on the couch. “I’m not really—”

“You’re eating. You’re popping ibuprofen like it’s candy,” Jeff cuts him off.

Mike rolls his eyes but he tells Jeff to get him something bland. Jeff ends up ordering Thai, and getting Mike the most boring duck on the menu. He lets Mike lie on the couch until the food gets there, but then presumes to loom over Mike until he begrudgingly gets up.

They eat mostly in silence, except for Jeff’s heavy sighs whenever Mike sneaks a piece of duck under the table for the cats. “Why don’t you give them some of yours too?” Mike suggests.

Jeff moves his food closer to himself and further away from Mike and gives Mike a very judgmental look. “Like hell I’m giving my food to your cats.”

Mike laughs at him and leaves another piece of duck on the floor. “Relax, I’m kidding. There are too many spices on yours anyways.”

Jeff feels some fluff rubbing against his jeans again and looks to the ceiling to channel some sort of patience. He really doesn't understand how Mike can live like this.

Once they’re finished (both Mike and Jeff, and the cats), Jeff sends Mike off to the living room, watching to make sure he gets to the couch without any major injuries, and starts clearing up the table, careful not to throw away any of the hospital papers. He feels pretty tired afterwards, so he grabs two water bottles from the fridge and walks over to the living room.

Mike’s got his eyes closed and he’s curled onto his side under a blanket, so Jeff figures he’s probably going to sleep here. He leaves one of the bottles on the floor next to Mike’s head, and goes upstairs.

 

 

 

Living with Mike now really isn’t all that different from living with Mike fifteen years ago. Granted, when they lived together before, there was no catloving involved, and Jeff didn’t have to learn, in graphic detail, how to clean a cat litter, but at least he and Mike don’t fight again and cleaning the litter is a small price to pay for that.

Mike is bored out of his mind though, which is reasonable, considering how all he does is lie on the couch or in his bed with a pillow or a blanket over his face and pretend to sleep. He can’t watch TV either, so he misses the Jackets’ games, which doesn’t help his case of boredom at all.

Jeff walks in on him one afternoon squinting down at his phone, even though it just makes his headaches worse. “You’re not supposed to do that,” Jeff mumbles. The first time, he’d just grabbed the phone out of Mike’s hands and that hadn’t gone over very well. To the surprise of no one.

Mike jumps, but he puts the phone down and gives Jeff a guilty look. “I just wanted to know the score,” he says.

Jeff rolls his eyes and goes to sit next to him on the couch, trying not to think too hard about all the rogue cat hair that is currently attaching itself to his clothes. He grabs Mike’s phone and thumbs open the Gamecenter app, winces a little at the score. “It’s five-three,” he says.

Mike lights up, which makes him looks considerably more alive than the sullen expression he’s been wearing ever since Jeff got here. “We scored five goals?” he asks.

Jeff really hates to do this to him. “Uhm, you scored three,” he says.

Mike’s shoulders slump and he gets a really sad look on his face. “We got scored on five times?” he asks, and he sounds more than a little mortified.

Jeff nods.

“How?” Mike asks, his eyebrows twisting together.

Jeff sighs and checks the boxscore. “Well,” he starts. “You had a three goal lead heading into the second.”

“Five unanswered goals,” Mike snaps, wincing at how loud his voice comes out. He grinds his jaw through it, then mutters, “Of course, of course this happened. I don’t even know why I’m surprised.”

“You wanna know what kind of goals they were?” Jeff asks, because watching Mike twitch his way through the description of a game is a little amusing.

“Sure, sure,” Mike says, “Hit me.”

“Two of them were shorthanded—”

“Two shorthanded goals,” Mike cuts Jeff off. He buries his face in his hands and starts laughing but not like he thinks any of this is particularly funny. “You know what,” he says after a few seconds, the words muffled into his palms. “I don’t wanna know any more. I’m fine.”

“Alright.” Jeff shrugs.

Mike makes it a whole half a minutes before hissing, “How they fuck did we let in two shorthanded goals?”

Jeff, because he can’t resist, says, “Well, I imagine there was a breakaway of some sort.”  
Mike turns his head to the side to give him a very critical look. He doesn’t look impressed by Jeff’s antics, but Jeff’s sort of missed this. Mike’s phone dings in Jeff’s hand, another goal scored for the Jets. “It’s six-three now,” he says.

Mike nods a lot of times in quick succession. He then gets to his feet, slowly because his balance is still not very good. “I’m gonna go now. I don’t need to hear anymore,” he says, and starts heading towards the stairs.

Jeff waits until Mike’s gone to laugh into his hand.  

 

 

 

The day the team plays their last road game, Johansen calls Jeff and asks him if Mike is up to a visit from some of the guys. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Jeff asks. He doesn’t want to get between Mike and his team.

Johansen sighs impatiently. “I did already. But, you know.”

Jeff sighs. Johansen has gotten into this habit during the past week where he talks to Mike and then talks to Jeff to confirm whatever Mike told him. Jeff privately thinks it’s a little dysfunctional, but it’s nice to see that Mike’s teammates care for him, though it’d be hard not to after six years. “I think he’d like that,” he says.

Johansen breathes out, loud into Jeff’s ear. “Okay. We’re getting back later today so we were thinking tomorrow night?”

“Try afternoon?” Jeff suggests because he’s noticed Mike’s headaches get worse the later it gets.

“Oh. Okay,” Johansen says, not particularly bothered. He says it will only be three or four guys and promises to bring food.

Jeff thinks that Johansen clearly has got his priorities set and goes to find Mike. “Do you have a cleaning service?” he asks.

Mike looks up from where he’s lying on the couch and squints at Jeff. “Why?”

Jeff rolls his eyes and sits down on the couch across from Mike. “Because your house smells like death? And so do you by the way.”

Mike huffs and closes his eyes again. “We have to take Patches to the vet tomorrow morning.” he says, which doesn’t really answer Jeff’s question.

“Okay?” Jeff frowns.

Mike rolls his eyes at him. “I already arranged for the service while we’re out. But it was nice of you to say my house smells like death.”

Jeff privately thinks that if Mike stepped out for ten minutes and then walked back in, he’d be able to distinguish the death smell too. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “What’s the vet visit for anyways?”

Mike raises an eyebrow in Jeff’s direction. “Patches has fleas,” he says in a tone that implies Jeff should know this already. Like there was a flea memo that Jeff was supposed to have received. Jeff did not receive it.

He looks down at his cat-hair covered jeans and his cat-hair covered hoodie and he thinks of his cat-hair covered blanket. He looks up when he hears Mike laughing and sees him clutching at his stomach, clearly trying to hold himself together. “You should see your face right now,” Mike says, breathless between laughs.

Jeff would be upset, because “Fleas are a serious thing, Michael”, but Mike hasn’t laughed like this since Jeff got here, so Jeff just rolls his eyes at him and makes a mental note to maybe run his blankets through the washer. Or burn them. Just to be safe.

 

 

 

The vet visit isn’t actually that bad, considering Jeff doesn’t have to do any actual cat-touching and is only in charge of the driving. Mike rolls his eyes at him when Jeff takes a seat at one of the chairs in front of the vet’s desk, as far away from the exam table as he can, but Jeff is more than happy where he is.

As it turns out, Patches only needs a vaccine that is completely unrelated to fleas as well as completely unrelated to toxoplasmosis, which somewhat soothes Jeff’s nerves.

Once they get back to the car, Mike checks his watch and pronounces they’ll need to go to the grocery store. “Lisa won’t be done yet,” he explains. “But we need to drive by the house first.”

“Why? Did you forget something?”

Mike pulls the sunshield down and takes his sunglasses out of the cup holder, although it’s not that sunny outside. “We need to drop Patches off,” he says.

Jeff glances at the rearview mirror to check the backseat. “Can’t we just… you know, leave it in the car?”

Mike rolls his eyes in a very exaggerated motion and then tries to hide his wince. “First of all, it’s a him. And second of all, would you leave your kids in the car?”

Jeff turns to frown at him. “Did you just compare your cat to my kids?” he asks, because that’s a little far fetched, even for Mike.

Mike sighs. “Start the car, come on,” he waves his hand around until Jeff obediently starts pulling out of the parking lot.

It’s a ten minute drive back to the house and Mike tells Jeff to wait in the car while he carries Patches back inside. When Mike comes back, Jeff thinks about offering to go on his own, since this is the longest Mike has spent out of the house since Jeff got here, but Mike looks fine getting into the car.

Jeff is regretting not saying something half an hour later, when Mike is swaying in front of the refrigerators and pinching at the bridge of his nose. He’s leaning against the shopping cart and halfheartedly pushing it around between the isles, but it’s clear he’d like this to be done as quickly as possible.

“Hey,” Jeff starts, putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder. He’s careful to keep his voice down. “You wanna go wait in the car while I finish up?”

Mike looks up like he’s about to argue, but then an announcement comes through the speakers and he winces, pressing his fingers into his temple. “Yeah, okay,” he says, almost too quiet for Jeff to hear. “I’ll just…” he gestures vaguely behind himself and then starts walking towards the exit.

Jeff makes quick work of everything else, and tries to find the teller with the shortest queue. When he gets back to the car, Mike is leaning his head against the window, cap pulled low over his eyes, but he sits up when Jeff starts the engine. “Are you okay?” Jeff asks, when Mike doesn’t say anything.

Mike snorts, pulling on his seatbelt. “I can’t even go to the grocery store without having a breakdown, but otherwise I’m fucking great,” he grumbles, bitter, but it’s not like Jeff can blame him.

“It’s still pretty soon,” Jeff says.

“It’s been more than a week,” Mike argues. “It should be better by now.”

Jeff hasn't had the same head injuries as Mike, so he can only speak in theory. “You need to give yourself time.”

“That’s all I’ve been fucking doing.” Mike snaps, banging his fist against the window.

Jeff jumps in his seat, mostly surprised, but glad they’re stopped at a red light.

“Shit,” Mike rasps two seconds later. “Sorry. I didn’t…” he sounds just as surprised as Jeff is, looking down at his hand.

Jeff swallows, shakes his head. His heart is racing in his chest and he takes a deep breath. “Is your hand okay?” he asks, glancing sideways at Mike.

Mike curls his fingers into a fist, then stretches them out. “Yeah, it’s… god, I don’t know what got into me. Sorry, really.”

Jeff catches a small tremor going through Mike’s hand where he’s holding it in his lap. “It’s fine,” he says, forcing his attention back to the street when someone honks. “Don’t worry about it.”

They’re both quiet after that, and once they get to Mike’s house, Mike helps Jeff carry the grocery bags inside. Lisa is gone and the house doesn’t smell like something died in it anymore. They unload the bags together and afterwards, Mike starts heading off to the living room. Jeff grabs an ice pack from the freezer and wraps it up in a towel before handing it to him. “Just for a few minutes,” he says when Mike gives him a questioning look.

“I told you it’s fine,” Mike murmurs, but he puts the ice pack on the back of his hand anyway.

Jeff shrugs. “Well, you kinda need your hand, so.”

“Thanks.”

 

 

 

Johansen brings, as promised, an excessive amount of food, of which he seems particularly proud. “I picked it all out myself,” he says, while he’s helping Jeff carry the plates to the living room.

“From where?” Jeff asks.

“The menu,” Foligno fills in and then he and Johansen presume to argue about whether or not that counts as an actual accomplishment. Johansen valiantly maintains that it does, but in the end they agree to disagree.

They’re all moderately successful at keeping their voices down and give Mike sheepish looks whenever they fail, but Jeff sincerely doubts Mike minds at all. This is probably the most he’s smiled and laughed since Jeff got here, and Jeff would be lying if he said he didn’t feel at least a little jealous about that.

Mostly, they talk about hockey and the team, and bitch about the Pens and the Flyers with the occasional mention of the Rangers. They do their best to keep Jeff included in the conversation, and it’s not as if Jeff doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, but it’s that he understands all too well. He remembers this feeling, the feeling of being part of a team and the easy acceptance that came with it—from most guys at least—and he thinks this is one of the parts he misses the most.

He ends up tuning most their conversation out, only pitching in with his opinion every few minutes, and it’s more comfortable like that, when he isn’t forced to take everything in.

Mike starts squinting and blinking rapidly a couple of hours into it, his voice growing more subdued whenever he says something. Foligno is the one who suggests that it’s time they wrapped things up, a few minutes later, so maybe Jeff isn't the only who notices.

“Babe, you’ve got cat hair all over your jeans,” Johansen says, frowning at Cam’s ass when he gets up to leave.

Jeff’s eyes snap up to the two of them, but when he glances around the living room, everyone else looks unconcerned. Jeff probably misheard them or something.

Cam twists around and fruitlessly starts running his hands over his pants like that’s going to help any. “Did I get any?”

Johansen shakes his head and gets up too, starts walking towards the kitchen. “Wait a sec, I’ll bring the lint roller.”

He comes back and starts running the roller over, well, Cam’s ass, and Jeff has made some good friends in hockey, really good even, but it never came down to him cleaning cat hair from their asses. He must be staring still because Mike kicks at his shin and gives him a very meaningful look as if to say, “stop being weird”. Jeff nods and makes himself look away, because he might not be the one running a roll of tape over his teammate’s ass, but the staring is still weird.

Johansen pulls Jeff aside when they’re about to leave, makes sure they’re alone before saying, “Hey, so, thanks for coming,” he keeps his voice quiet and he sounds incredibly awkward, avoiding Jeff’s eyes.

Jeff nods and tries to avoid Johansen’s eyes, too. “It’s, you know, no problem,” He says, rubbing at the back his neck with his hand.

Johansen suddenly looks up and gives him a very serious look. “Really, though. Thanks,” he says.

He leaves before Jeff can say anything else, and then there’s the sound of the door closing behind him.

Jeff shakes his head, still half stuck on Johansen calling Cam “babe”, and goes back to the living so he can start cleaning up. Mike is already there, throwing beer bottles into a black garbage bag. “I can do that,” Jeff says.

Mike shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says, “Just pick up the take out boxes.”

Jeff nods, even though Mike can’t see him, and the two of the work in silence for a few minutes. “Hey, so,” Jeff starts, careful because this is Mike’s team now. “Johansen and, you know, Atkinson. They’re…” he trails off, mostly not knowing how to go on.

Mike’s hand freezes over a crumbled paper towel for a second. “Is that a problem?” he asks, slow.

Jeff rolls his eyes and waits until Mike looks up at him before speaking. “Really?” he says then, because he’s known Mike is bi since they were twenty-five and never made a big deal out of it, but trust Mike to be suspicious.

Mike shrugs. “Good point,” he says, “We just, we don’t really talk about it on the team.”

Jeff doesn’t say anything else and when they’re done, he takes the bag from Mike. “How come?” he asks. He doesn’t really know why he’s poking at it.

Mike sighs, looking anywhere but at Jeff. “It’s… it’s just the way it is,” he says. There’re dark circles under his eyes and he looks pale in the dim lightning. “Not everybody’s cool with it.”

“That’s why you don’t date guys?” Jeff asks, louder than he’d meant.

Mike winces. “Do we have to talk about this now?” He asks.

Jeff figures this is as good a time as any. “Why not?”

Mike lets out a long breath and sinks down on the couch. Jeff ties the garbage bag closed and leaves it next to the table before sitting down next to him. “I don’t date guys because I can date women and women are easier,” Mike says after a few minutes. It’s all in a rush but it sounds like Mike’s thought about this before. Not that Jeff would know. Mike’s never willingly talked about this with Jeff, other than the brief, awkward morning-after talk, and Jeff hasn’t asked. At first it was because it made him uncomfortable, but after the initial shock that was his best friend kissing him had worn off, it was more that he got the impression Mike didn’t want to be asked.

“Yeah, but don’t you. Like, don’t you want to?” Jeff says now, because it’s been eleven years since then. “Date a guy?”

“Sure,” Mike shrugs. “In theory—a little bit—but I don’t _need_ to. And it’s not worth all the looks. Or the attention. Maybe,” he stops for a few seconds. “Maybe after. After hockey,” he says, quieter now.

Jeff swallows, trying to come up with something to say.

“Anyway,” Mike starts before he can. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” He gets up, starts heading towards the stairs.

 

 

 

The day before Jeff leaves, he comes downstairs to find Mike sitting at the kitchen table, Gordie laid out on the table in front of him while Mike brushes his fur. Jeff is about to grumble something about unsanitary habits, but Mike hasn’t seen him yet, or heard him, completely focused on his task. His face looks softer somehow, and Gordie keeps purring at him while Mike mumbles nonsense that Jeff can’t make out, but Jeff sees all this and feels a pull deep in his stomach.

He has to clear his throat then, because this feels too private and Jeff feels too guilty for intruding.

Mike startles, glancing away from Gordie to see Jeff hovering by the doorframe. His face changes, his expression turning guarded, or maybe just turning regular, and Jeff can’t help but feel a twinge of regret. “Good morning,” Mike says, brighter than Jeff’s used to hearing him these days. “There’s coffee, if you want.” He points to the coffeemaker sitting on the counter and goes back to running the brush along the underside of Gordie’s chin, albeit without the murmuring commentary now.

“Thanks,” Jeff says, blinking sleep from his eyes, and goes to pour himself a cup. He glances out the window as he drinks it, and notices how much worse the back yard looks now, with the trees done shedding and their leaves laying crusted on the grass.

“Your yard is such a mess,” Jeff points out, still half asleep. “Why is it like this?”

Mike scoffs from behind him but there’s no heat in it. “Don’t front. You’re no better,” he grumbles, and it hits Jeff, all at once, how familiar this is, to have Mike grumbling at him first thing in the morning even when there is nothing to argue about. It hits him, with the same kind of abruptness, how much he’s missed this too, and he feels it sharply now.

It takes him a moment to get his mouth to start cooperating again, and he’s glad he’s got his back turned to Mike in the meantime. “I am,” he protests. It’s weak, but Mike doesn’t seem to notice.

“You killed, like, every single plant you bought while we lived together in Philly,” Mike points out, which is very much wrong, wrong enough to get Jeff to turn around and narrow his eyes at him.

“That’s really not what I remember happening,” Jeff argues, more than a little offended.

Mike bites his lips to keep himself from smiling. “What do you remember happening?” he asks. He stops brushing Gordie and the purring dies down.

“I remember it as you watering the plants with beer because _beer should not go to waste, Carts_ ,” Jeff says, even goes as far as to make obnoxious finger quotes around the last part.

That proves to be too much for Mike, and he laughs into his beard. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I did do that a couple of times.” At least he has the honor to admit it.

“So, you know, technically, it was your beer getting them drunk, not me killing them,” Jeff summarizes.

Mike waves him off. “Whatever. If you want to do something about the yard, be my guest,” he says.

Jeff normally would let that pass without a second thought, except there’s something like challenge in Mike’s tone, and Jeff’s been away from him and that tone just long enough to have lost all immunity to them. So, really, he can’t be blamed when he says, “Maybe I will,” with a challenging tone to match Mike’s.

Mike’s eyes flash. Jeff is pleased to see that Mike is just as susceptible to challenge based manipulation from Jeff as Jeff is from Mike. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to pull anything,” he says.

Jeff snorts. “Do you have, like, any gardening stuff?” he hazards.

Mike grins, flashing his teeth at Jeff. “I have a shed around the back of the house. There’s a lot of shit in it,” he says, looking down to give Gordie an apologetic look when he buts his head against Mike’s palm.

Jeff nods. “Good. I’m gonna be out there then,” he says, downing the rest of his coffee.

Mike blinks. “Wait,” he says, standing up. “You’re serious?” he asks.

“Well, yeah.” Jeff shrugs. “I’m growing roots just sitting around,” he says, joking, but he can’t ignore how his hands are itching for something to do, how his skin suddenly feels pulled tight.

Mike doesn’t look convinced by that, frowning, but Jeff is moving to grab his coat and his shoes before Mike can say anything else.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t particularly enjoy raking leaves, and he doesn’t particularly enjoy mowing either, and Mike’s backyard is fucking big with a lot of grass to cover, but he rakes, and he mows, until he’s sweaty and his shirt is sticking to his back under his coat, and his fingers are numb from the cold. He waits for the tension to leave his body, for his muscles to finally loosen, but they never do, and the same tension that made the house feel too stuffed keeps nagging at him, like a sore spot he knows better than to poke at.

Jeff plants the rake in the leaves just a little harder on his next downstroke, hears them crunch and break as he drags them into the corner with the rest, because he didn’t think ahead enough to bring a garbage bag with him.

He makes a very conscious effort to not think about anything, just focus on the grass, which isn’t even all that interesting. He doesn’t know how long he’s been at it when Mike comes out on the porch, carrying a plate with a sandwich on it and two water bottles. He puts the plate and the bottles down on the table by the window and dusts off one of the chairs, turning it until it’s facing Jeff before sitting down on it. “I brought you something to eat,” he says, not too loud, but it’s quiet out here anyway.

Jeff could keep raking the leaves and Mike wouldn't say anything, but he left the house without eating anything earlier, and his stomach makes a very convincing noise. His hands are pretty disgusting, but he’s hungry enough not to care as he shoves the sandwich in his mouth and finishes it up in a few quick bites.

Mike hands him one of the water bottles then and takes the plate back.

“Thanks.” Jeff nods, thirstier than he’d thought.

Mike shrugs and kicks his feet up on the deck rail to get comfortable. “You’ve fed me enough times. I thought I’d return the favor.”

Jeff snorts, but he hands the water bottle back and goes to pick up the rake again. “You’re not going back inside?” He’s seen how much sunlight affects Mike now.

“I’m under the shade,” Mike points out. “And I’m wearing sunglasses.”

That’s not a very compelling argument, but it’s not really Jeff’s business either. “Suit yourself.”

“I will.” Mike grins. “You missed a spot there, by the way,” he says, pointing to the pile of leaves that Jeff has steadily been building.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Ha, fucking ha. You’re so funny,” he grumbles, mostly at the ground.

He can hear Mike sort of cackle behind him, and say, “You need any help? Instructions?”

“From you?” Jeff looks away from the leaves enough to give Mike a once over.

“Hey!” Mike clutches at his chest, apparently offended that Jeff had the nerve to insult his gardening abilities. “I grew up in a small town. There were a lot of opportunities for yard work there.”

“So, you did a lot of raking growing up?” Jeff lifts an eyebrow, leaning against the rake.

Mike smiles. “Well, no. I had hockey to play, you know,” he says.

“Of course,” Jeff mumbles under his breath.

“Go on then, and I’ll inspect.” Mike waves him off.

Jeff shakes his head but starts raking again, pulling the leaves back into his corner. Mike is quiet for the most part except for the occasional remark that has Jeff snorting, like, “Put your back into it”, or “Both hands, Cartsy, both hands”, as if this is some sort of hockey game and Mike is in charge of team morale. Jeff, for his part, just mutters at him and tries not to think about how familiar this feels.

“You’re looking tired there, Carts.” Mike says at some point, probably thinking he’s so fucking smart. “What happened? You slacking off in the gym?”

Jeff grunts. “You know,” he starts, slowing down because raking is more difficult than he expected, and it’s not that Mike’s right, but Jeff doesn’t train like he used to and the strain in his knee is taxing. “Chirping was never your strong spot.”

“Seems to be working fine on you,” Mike counters, and Jeff doesn’t have to look up to know that he’s smirking.

Jeff shakes his head at him, but it kinda is. He and Mike haven’t played together in a really long time and Jeff would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it, how easy it came to skate with Mike, and listen to him, and bounce plays off each other.

But Jeff is retired now, and Mike has a concussion, and dwelling on it won’t do either of them any good.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jeff mumbles out distractedly.

Mike keeps up a running commentary of how he thinks Jeff does, seemingly getting more creative with his chirping every time Jeff rolls his eyes at him or scoffs, or generally argues with him. Once he gets bored with that, he gets up to walk across the yard to the garden shed, coming back with a few garbage bags and another rake. He sets out to work next to Jeff, helping him finish up with the last of the leaves.

“I’ve been feeling fine today, stop glaring,” Mike says at Jeff’s raised eyebrow, and Jeff doesn’t fight him because he can see it too, in the way Mike moves.

Between the two of them, they finish up with the rest of the yard pretty quickly, and then try to push all the leaves they’ve piled up into the garbage bags. That’s slightly more annoying and time consuming, because the leaves keep overflowing and scattering, but Mike just grabs the rake and presses them down into the bag until Jeff can work the rest in there too.

By the time they’re done, they’re both sweaty, and Jeff’s hands are covered in dirt and muck. Mike shakes off his coat and drapes it along the back of one of the kitchen chairs as soon as they get inside, rolling up his sleeves as he makes his way to the fridge for some water. He drinks it quickly, and Jeff’s eyes catch on the curve of his neck, linger on the way his throat works as he swallows.

Mike drinks half the bottle in one go, swipes his arm over his mouth, and Jeff’s eyes get stuck there too, on Mike’s forearm, the raised veins and the shifting muscles as he screws the cap back on the bottle. Jeff feels heat settle into his stomach and has to swallow, has to force himself to look away from Mike’s wet lips.

It takes him a minute to parse out everything that he’s feeling, mostly because he’s not used to associating these things with Mike, but once he does he knows, he knows for sure, that this is not just Mike being his friend. Looking at his friends doesn’t usually make Jeff’s mouth go dry, his chest tight. Looking at his friends who are guys doesn’t _ever_ make him feel like this.

“Jeff?” Mike says then, sounding worried. Jeff realizes that’s probably not the first time Mike’s tried to get his attention.

He shakes his head, swallows a few times rapidly in hopes it will make his voice come out normal. “Yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, and it doesn’t really work, but it’s close enough. “What’s up?”

“You just looked kinda far away there,” Mike says slowly. “You sure you’re okay?”

Jeff nods, deeper than necessary, but his reaction time feels all wrong. “Yeah. Just thinking about taking a shower. It got pretty hot with all the raking,” he says, shifting his weight between his feet.

“Sure,” Mike says slowly. He can probably tell Jeff’s feeling nervous, so he doesn’t ask any more questions before letting Jeff head upstairs.

Once in the guestroom, Jeff closes and locks the door behind him, closes and locks the door to the adjoining bathroom too. He knows Mike won’t attempt to barge in here, but the locks feel like another layer of separation, giving Jeff time to just _think_.

He shrugs off his clothes and gets under the shower, turning the water hot enough that it’s almost scalding against his skin, although he’ll regret it later. He knows he’s already put too much weight on his knee for the day, and the change in temperature after he gets out of the shower will just makes the pain worse.

He leans his forehead against the cold tile and lets the water wash over his back. He remembers the way he’d felt this morning, looking at Mike, the warmth in his stomach, the tension he’s felt brewing under his skin for hours now. The heat curling into his gut, which is what makes this so different.

Because Jeff, he’s not into guys. He’s never been into guys. And he’s not into Mike, definitely not into Mike. That would be just ironic, ironic in the most twisted ways karma has to offer. And Jeff doesn’t even believe in karma.

So. Conclusion: Jeff is not into guys, not into Mike, _very_ into women. Not into karma.

 

 

 

By some virtue of luck – and by this Jeff means this extremely strategic plan of his, where he stays locked up in the guestroom he’s commandeered, only coming out when he knows for a fact Mike’s in his bedroom – Jeff manages to avoid Mike for the rest of the day. He feels bad about it, because he came here to help Mike, not leave him on his own, but he doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth right now if the two of them are alone again.

 

It’s not until much later that night, after he’s come down to get some water from the kitchen, that he hears Mike’s soft footfalls approaching. Jeff closes the fridge, walks over to the counter so he has something to twist his fingers around.

 

“Hey,” Mike says from the door and Jeff frowns at the roughness in his voice. Mike walks straight to the table, slower than usual, swaying a little before he sits down. His hair is wet, and he has to push it away from his face and out of his bloodshot eyes. Jeff stares, a little too intensely, because Mike was fine this morning.

Snuggles follows shortly behind him, but she bypasses both of them for the sake of her food.

Jeff squeezes his lips together when Mike picks up the bottle of ibuprofen. Then he says, “If the pain is so bad, why don’t you try the prescription stuff?” anyways. His tone is careful, but firm too, because Mike seems intent on torturing himself and Jeff – Jeff is tired of keeping track of all the things they don’t talk about.

Mike’s shoulders drop. “You have the most amazing timing,” he mutters, voice coming out choppy and used.

Jeff sits down across from him but doesn’t say anything to that.

Mike sighs, but after a few seconds, he says, “I don’t like them.”

Jeff snorts, sharper than he’d meant, but he still presses on. “Really?”

Mike knuckles are white where they’re pressed around the edge the table. “I don’t need them. I’m fine.”

Jeff lets his head drop between his shoulders, almost laughs at how big of a lie that is. “How many hours do you sleep at night?” he asks, raising his voice until Mike winces, just to prove his point.

Mike’s nostrils twitch, and he closes his eyes. “Enough,” he says thinly.

“Jesus Christ, Richie, why don’t you just – ”

“Because I don’t fucking want to,” Mike snaps, hand flying across the table to knock down one of the glasses. The glass shatters when it hits the floor, pieces flying everywhere, and Snuggles hisses at them before running off.

Mike goes from fuming to looking after her with the guiltiest look Jeff has seen on his face in a while. “Fuck,” he lets out, but it’s more tired than anything. When he breathes, it’s shaky.

Jeff suddenly feels guilty too, for pushing this hard when Mike looks like that.

They’re both quiet, but it’s charged, and Jeff swears he can feels time start to crawl, his heart thumping in his chest. Mike is not looking at him – he’s looking at the scattering of glass shards across the floor – but Jeff still looks away.

Mike sighs heavily after a few minutes. “It’s not just… I don’t want to be that guy, Cartsy, not again,” he says, words coming out muffled, and when Jeff makes himself look up, Mike’s got his face buried in his hands. “I don’t want that,” he continues. That last part is almost too quiet to hear, like it’s whispered, and Jeff feels sick, stomach curling up but so different from this morning.

Jeff clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Richie,” he says, “I really shouldn't have pushed it.”

Mike finally takes his hands away from his face. He tries to smile, and that just makes him look even more tired.

Jeff scrambles for something to say, something nice. “Do you – ” he starts, and Mike cuts him off with a sharp look.

“If you offer me food, I will punch you in the face,” he says, voice even so Jeff doesn’t know if he’s kidding or not. Mike takes the ibuprofen, wincing as he swallows it down, so he’s probably not kidding.

He makes to get up, and Jeff stops him, says, “Let me clean this up first.”

 

 

 

Jeff sets his alarm for early the next morning so he can get up and pack for his flight. He’s got a bit of a paranoid streak about forgetting stuff, and even years of traveling and hotel rooms haven't drilled that out of him, but he’s also stalling facing Mike after last night. It takes him an hour, but after his suitcase is packed for maximum efficiency and he’s dressed in the clothes he’ll wear on the plane, Jeff has to admit that there’s nothing left for him to do.

In the kitchen, he’s a little intrigued to find Mike struggling with the vacuum, and he calls his name, but it’s drowned out by the noise, so he puts his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Mike jumps and almost loses his balance, tripping over the wire, but he just manages to catch himself on one of the chairs. “Jesus, you scared me,” he calls over the vacuum, and Jeff rolls his eyes before pressing the stop button with his foot.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“What does it look like?” Mike mumbles, a little gruff like he always is in the mornings.

“I thought I got everything last night,” Jeff says. He’d swept the floor twice under Mike’s watchful eye, but maybe he missed something.

Mike shrugs, and starts pushing Jeff to sit on one of the chairs. “Yeah, I just. I didn’t want them to step on anything,” he says, and then starts up the vacuum again before Jeff can get a word in. Honestly, it’s a little endearing how protective Mike is of his cats, not that Jeff will ever understand it.

Mike brushes over the entirety of the floor twice before turning the vacuum off and nudging it off to the side halfheartedly.

“I didn’t even know you could use a vacuum.” Jeff says, only half joking.

Mike rolls his eyes at him and snorts at the same time. “I’m a functional adult, thank you,” he grumbles, sitting down across from Jeff. He looks a little better than yesterday, less tired, so maybe he managed to get some sleep.

The silence between them is awkward again, and Jeff is starting to hate it a little bit more each time it happens. A few years ago, they could speak one word to each other all day, and that would have been fine. “So, you’ve got your doctor’s appointment tomorrow, right?” he asks, just to make things normal again, or at least pretend they can be.

It’s probably not the safest subject, but Mike just sighs, and says, “Yeah,” a little rueful. “You’re going back to LA today.”

Jeff can’t tell if Mike sounds disappointed, and Mike’s looking at the table, not at him, so he can’t see his face either. “Yep,” he says, and there goes quiet again.

Jeff waits it out for a few seconds and then he says, “Listen,” just as Mike says, “I just,” They both stop and give an awkward chuckle, so Jeff gestures for Mike to go first.

Mike clears his throat, starts worrying at a tuft of his beard. “I just wanted to thank you. For coming, I mean. I know you’ve got the kids and everything, and it couldn’t have been easy to just leave and come here.” His voice does that thing where it shakes a little whenever he’s nervous, and it makes Jeff wonder how long he’s been thinking about this.

“No, no. You – ” Jeff cuts himself off, because he was going to say, _you would’ve done the same thing_ , and that – no. “You’re my friend,” he says instead, which feels lacking, but he doesn’t know what else to say – he doesn’t know what else he _can_ say.

Mike snorts out a laugh, like maybe he can tell that it’s not enough too. “Still. Thanks.”

Jeff nods, a little stilted.

“So. What were you gonna say?” Mike asks.

Jeff takes a deep breath and tells himself that this is a bad idea. Then, “I don’t know what the doctor will say and stuff, but you know, you should come to LA, if you can.”

Mike doesn’t answer right away. When Jeff looks up, Mike is still holding onto the same patch of hair on his beard.

“And if you want to,” Jeff adds. “I mean, you could stay at my place, I have a guest room, and the kids are not loud or anything.” His heart is racing a little, and his palms are starting to sweat. He doesn't know why he’s so nervous about this; he didn’t even know he was going to ask until two minutes ago.

“Ugh… I don’t really know if I can,” Mike says, “I mean, maybe they’ll have me start training and all that and – ”

“Oh, yeah, totally,” Jeff cuts him off. He’s got a sour taste in his mouth, which is terribly out of place. Things are different between him and Mike now, and this conversation is only proof of that.

“Thanks though,” Mike says, “What time does your flight leave?”

Jeff has never been more grateful for a subject change in his life. “Like, two?”

Mike hums thoughtfully. He kicks at Jeff’s ankle. “You wanna say goodbye to the cats?”

Jeff winces at the thought. “Thanks, but no thanks,” he says.

Mike laughs, short.

“Hey,” Jeff starts, because apparently the feelings sharing has started now and he can’t keep the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Whatever they say tomorrow, let me know, yeah?”

Mike looks surprised for just a second, and then he goes back to his normal self. “Yeah, Cartsy, I’ll call you.”

 

 

 

When the plane takes off, Jeff feels a twist in his stomach but it’s not – it’s nothing.

 

 

 

When Jeff gets back to LA, his house is dark and there’s no one there, which isn’t surprising, but still a little lonely. It’s clean though, and the fridge is stocked, so he takes out a beer and sits on the couch, kicks off his shoes and props his feet up on the coffee table, which he usually avoids because he doesn’t want to set a bad example.

He’s pretty tired, but it’s barely seven and he can’t go to bed yet. He turns on the TV to some series that’s playing on HBO, but after ten days living with Mike, the screen feels too bright and the sound too loud, so he ends up putting it on mute and clicking on the closed captioning option.

He hasn’t even caught the main characters’ names by the time the end credits roll around.

 

 

 

Jeff is watching a new cooking video on youtube when Mike calls him. He pauses the video and just looks at the display on his phone for a few seconds because he asked Mike to call him after his doctor’s appointment, but he wasn’t expecting Mike to actually do it. He tries not to sound surprised when he picks up. “Hey.”

Mike clears his throat. “Hey,” he says, and nothing comes after that.

Jeff figures he’s gonna have to be the one to bite the bullet. “So, how did it go?” he asks, although, judging by Mike’s tone, he doesn’t think it went all that great.

“Well,” Mike starts, “I can’t play yet, and I can’t train either. I can’t drive and I am to avoid any strenuous activity.”

They’ve had this conversation before, to varying degrees, so Jeff just says, “That sucks, Richie.”

Mike snorts. “Hey, I can try watching TV, so that’s good.” The words are still gruff, but there’s a hint in his voice that he’s at least trying to laugh at himself.

“Did he give you a timeline?” Jeff asks.

“Sure.” Mike sounds annoyed, like Jeff’s question is stupid. Jeff doesn’t take it to heart. “As soon as my head stops hurting, I can start light exercise.”

Jeff thinks about apologizing, but that would probably make matters worse, and it’s not like it would make Mike’s concussion better.

“So,” Mike says, before Jeff can come up with anything better. “Your offer still stand?”

“What?” Jeff asks, because he wasn’t expecting that.

Mike huffs, both impatient and annoyed, probably that he has to further explain himself. “About LA.”

Jeff is still a little stunned when he says, “Sure.”

“Great!” Mike says, “Does Wednesday work?”

“Uhm, yeah, that sounds good,” Jeff says, still cautious because Mike sounds like he’s already thought this out. “Dylan and Chris are with me on Friday though, and I can’t back out of that. Will that be okay?” Mike hasn’t seen either of them in years, and Jeff would rather clear this up now.

“Oh,” Mike says, like he hadn’t quite figured that variable in. “I don’t mind. Unless they would?” he adds hesitantly. “I mean, I could just stay at a hotel—”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” Jeff cuts him off. He’s the one who invited Mike here, it’d be kind of an asshole move to make him stay at a hotel. “It’ll be fine,” he says, but he can’t help feeling at least a little nervous about how Mike and the kids will get along.

“Okay. I’ll text you the flight info?” Mike says. Jeff notices how he doesn’t sound as confident as he did a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, that’ll work.” Then, before Mike can hang up, he asks, “You won’t, like, you won’t be bringing your cats, right?”

That actually makes Mike laugh. He says, “Wow, you really hate my cats, Cartsy.”

Jeff makes a non-committal noise. “Not so much hate as a very intense dislike.”

“No, I won’t be bringing my cats,” Mike says. He sounds like he’s smiling. “That’s a really long flight to put a cat through.”

Jeff tries not to sigh too hard into the phone. “They’ll be fine on their own?” he asks. He’s pretty sure a cat could theoretically survive a few days on its own, provided there was enough food. Maybe Mike could just fill up their bowl and…go? Though that doesn’t sound particularly sanitary.

“No,” Mike says, scandalized. He’s clearly disappointed in Jeff’s cat caretaking knowledge. “I will not be—jeez. I’ll just make Jack look after them while I’m gone.”

“Oh, well, that’s good then,” Jeff says.

Mike grumbles something about cats having a soul too, and subsequently deserving some love, but Jeff’s got his loyalties straightened out. He’s a dog person—or just a not-cat person.

 

 

 

Mike walks out of baggage claim wearing a Yankees cap and a pair of black sunglasses that make what parts of his face Jeff can see look even more pale. His shoulders are hunched up to his ears and he’s walking stiffly, heading towards the chairs in the waiting area before he spots Jeff coming his way and changes direction.

Jeff takes his bag without saying anything, and Mike doesn’t even protest it, which says enough in itself. He sticks close to Jeff, close enough that their shoulders brush as they make their way to the short term parking lot, and once they get in the car, he leans against the window and breathes deeply, like the flight was closer to ten hours rather than five. Jeff doesn’t start the car right away, gives Mike a few minutes to get his feet back under him.

“Fuck,” Mike breathes out a couple of minutes later. He takes off his sunglasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut.

Jeff doesn’t ask him if he’s okay because Mike looks three seconds away from passing out on him. He hands him a bottle of water though since it probably won’t do any good if Mike’s dehydrated on top of everything else.

“Thanks,” Mike mumbles, trying his best approximation of a smile.

Jeff waits until he’s taken a few sips before asking, “Okay?”

“Yeah, just. Lots of noise,” Mike says.

Jeff nods and starts the car. Mike doesn’t talk for the whole drive over to Jeff’s house and he doesn’t move either except to lower the sunshield and pull his seatbelt on. He eyes the glittery fish hanging from Jeff’s rearview mirror.

“Chris made it,” Jeff explains. “In art class.”

Mike chuckles but it’s not mean. “It’s nice.” He shrugs.

Jeff’s a little nervous about Mike visiting him, more than he should be, although he can’t really say why. He spent the morning changing the sheets in every room, not just the guest room, and cleaning up the house, which he’s never done for Mike before, but Jeff bought the house just after the divorce, and Mike’s never been here before. He’d give Mike the tour, but Mike looks dead on his feet when they get out of the car, so figures that will have to wait until tomorrow.

“Are you hungry?” Jeff asks as they get inside.

Mike shakes his head and starts following Jeff up the stairs. “I puked twice on the flight.”

Jeff winces, but he shows Mike to the guest room. “So, this is it. There’re blackout curtains, and a bathroom and everything,” he says.

Mike looks around for a second, and then he sinks down on the edge of the bed. Jeff feels a little awkward just standing there while Mike takes off his shoes and starts pulling off his clothes, so he takes a step back towards the door. “My room is the last one down the hall if you need anything,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Mike nods and stands up to take off his jeans. Jeff looks away. “Goodnight,” he says, even more awkward now that Mike’s half naked, although he shouldn't be.

He’s almost out the door when Mike says, “Hey.”

Jeff turns around and decidedly keeps his eyes on Mike’s face.

“Thanks,” Mike says, waving his hand around the air.

Jeff nods and closes the door behind him.

 

 

 

Jeff spends the first day that Mike’s in LA worrying about things maybe being stilted between them now—more than usual—and this being a mistake and, really, what was he thinking blurting that out without considering it first. But Mike basically does what he did in Columbus, which is choose a flat surface to lie on for the day, close his eyes, and try his best to ignore his surroundings.

So, Jeff leaves him alone to it, though it’s more difficult than he expected. Every time their shoulders brush in the hallway, every time they bump into each other, Jeff finds himself lingering. Every time Mike sits at the breakfast counter to watch Jeff make dinner and diligently asks if there’s anything Jeff needs his help with, Jeff takes a few seconds to answer, because he has to make himself stop thinking about how soft Mike’s hair looks without any gel in it.

Needless to say, it complicates things, at least for Jeff and his relationship with himself, because Mike doesn’t seem to notice any difference. Which is good, Jeff tells himself and does a bad job at believing. Because, he wonders a little, what _if_ Mike noticed? What if he knew Jeff wanted to touch his hair, wanted other things to? Would he like it, would he do something about it? Would he even care now? And if he did care, and he did like it and he did do something about it, then what would Jeff do?

 

 

 

Jeff is watching TV one afternoon when Mike comes and plants himself beside him on the couch. Mike chooses to sit pretty close, even though it’s a big couch, and this isn’t something Jeff would notice before, but he’s uncomfortably aware of it now.

“What’re we watching?” Mike asks.

“Uhm…” Jeff starts dumbly, even though he’s been watching this show for the last hour. “It’s a cooking show,” he manages to get out.

Mike nods like this is interesting, which, it’s not, but Mike rarely gets picky about the TV. “Cool,” he says, “What are they making?”

“Grilled salmon,” Jeff says. He wonders if Mike would notice if he shifted away from him a little and decides Mike probably would.

“That’s a nice looking piece of salmon,” Mike comments appreciatively, as the contender marinates her fillet.

Trust Mike to know a nice looking piece of salmon.

“What.” Mike lifts his shoulders to his ears at the look Jeff gives him. “It’s clearly got muscle definition,” he mumbles, which makes Jeff shake his head.

Mike turns his attention to the show after that, and Jeff tries to do the same. Their shoulders are touching though, and Mike’s putting off enough heat that Jeff’s starting to get a little warm in his clothes.

One of the judges on the show makes a bad pun about one of the contenders’ dishes, and it makes Mike chuckle a little. Jeff can feel it against his side, and when he turns his head to glance at Mike, he’s sort of overwhelmed by how much he wants to touch him, just touch him, and not—not like this. But it’s not—Jeff isn’t gay. He’s had sex with women, and he’s fallen in love with them, and he was married to Kaylin for years. He’s _not_ gay. He can’t _be_ gay—and he really can’t be gay for Michael Richards.

So maybe this is nothing, and if it’s nothing, then there’s nothing wrong with testing it out.

And it’s been twelve years since 2009, so Jeff doesn’t know if Mike wants this, not anymore, not that he ever really knew, but he could test that out too.

And there’s nothing wrong with that either.

This is Jeff’s reasoning.

Jeff wraps his fingers around Mike’s neck, strokes the skin behind his ear with his thumb, slow. Mike freezes under his hand. The corner of his eye twitches like he’s trying to see what Jeff’s doing but he doesn’t want to move. Jeff doesn’t want to move either, doesn’t want to breathe normally, because this doesn’t feel different but he keeps expecting it to. The skin of his palm starts to feel warmer, and that’s nice, kinda, but he doesn’t know if it’s him or if it’s Mike’s neck.

“This feels really weird,” Mike says a couple of minutes into it. He doesn’t look at Jeff, sits eerily still.

Jeff wouldn’t use that word; Jeff would use the word “intimate”. But he’s not sure how that word fits between them. “Good weird or bad weird?” he asks instead.

Mike doesn’t answer at first. Jeff pushes his thumb into Mike’s hair, pressing, just a little, into the skin of his scalp. He can feel Mike’s breath stuttering with it, feel Mike leaning into it for a moment before he catches himself and freezes. “Jeff,” Mike says then, breathes out really, and Jeff, he likes how it sounds. Mike saves Jeff’s name for the big moments, and, more often than not, the sad moments, and this one doesn’t feel sad, but it feels big. 

“Mike,” he says, moves his hand higher, stroking through Mike’s hair with all his fingers. He thinks Mike shudders.

Mike swallows, fingers curling into a fist on his thigh. His jaw tightens. For a second, Jeff thinks he’s angry and his fingers freeze. But it’s just for a second, and then it looks like everything drains out of Mike’s body and he stops fighting it, just leans into Jeff’s hand, pressing his head against Jeff’s fingers. “Keep going,” Mike says, too quiet and too rough.

Jeff breathes again and just—keeps going. He doesn’t know if this is the same for Mike as it is for him, if Mike even knows what this is for Jeff, but Jeff figures he must. They were close before, before Mike signed with Columbus, but not this kind of close. This kind of close would make both of them nervous before, too aware of all the things left unsaid. It still makes Jeff nervous now, but that’s mostly due to the newness of it rather than any underlying awkwardness between them.

Jeff has dated a few women since his divorce—three to be exact—but he didn’t make it to the stage where this sort of contact would be comfortable with any of them. Jeff is not dating Mike, but being this close to him feels good. It feels like something Jeff might have missed.

It’s only a few minutes until Mike’s eyelids flutter and then close. His lips part when Jeff rubs his fingers over his temple, and Jeff stares for a moment too long, but it’s not like Mike can see him. After a while, Jeff’s hand starts going numb but he likes how peaceful Mike looks, how the lines on his forehead have smoothed out for now.

“I think I’ma fall asleep now,” Mike mumbles out, not even bothering to open his eyes.

Jeff doesn’t really want to leave, not now when Mike is soft and pliable and finally out of things to argue about. But he’s noticed how little sleep Mike has been getting during the night, and he’s pretty sure it’s not much better during the day, so he starts getting up. When he takes his hand away Mike doesn’t even protest, just scrunches up his face like he’s discomforted by it. Jeff nudges him to lie on the spot he was sitting, but when he looks down at him and his stomach gets all twisted up, he knows for sure this is something that he has missed.

 

 

 

They don’t really get the chance to talk about it after. Mike doesn’t seem inclined to bring it up, and Jeff doesn’t either because he has to pick the kids up from school and tell them about Mike’s visit.

“So, you guys remember my friend that I went to visit last week?” Jeff starts, after Chris and Dylan have finished recounting how their week was. He waits for both of them to nod before continuing. “He came to visit and he’s staying with me for a few days. Is that okay?”

Dylan and Chris start looking mildly more interested at that. “Can he play with us?” Dylan asks, after exchanging a look with Chris.

“I don’t think so,” Jeff says gently. “You remember I told you he hurt his head?”

“Oh.” Chris frowns. “That’s not fixed yet?” he asks.

Before Jeff can answer, Dylan says, “When my friend George hurt his head he only missed two days of school.”

“Well, yeah, but Mike is older, and he’s hurt himself before, so it takes a little longer for him,” Jeff says. He tries to keep it vague because both of them are too young for anything else. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you guys about,” Jeff goes on, “His head can’t really take loud noises and stuff right now, so I would really like it if we could keep the yelling down during the weekend?”

Chris and Dylan nod in unison, but Jeff knows better than to leave it there.

“And no fighting over the remote,” he says, a little firmer now.

Predictably, they’re not so quick to agree on this. “But dad, I don’t like what Chris wants to watch,” Dylan protests, and Jeff fixes him with his best unimpressed look through the mirror. Dylan is at that stage where he thinks the cartoons Chris watches are for children and Dylan obviously does not belong in that category.

“Dylan,” Jeff says, “There will be no fighting over the remote.”

Dylan scoffs. He makes a valiant attempt at crossing his arms over his chest though it doesn’t really work, and he says, put-upon and everything, “Okay, dad.”

“Thank you,” Jeff says.

Admittedly, the actual introductions part goes fairly well, though Jeff suspects that has more to do with the xbox game Mike bought before coming here and uses to bribe them with rather than any actual rapport that might be developing between the three of them. Still, Jeff’s more than happy to take it, even though he has to spend five minutes arguing with Dylan over how unfair it is that he has to finish his homework before testing it out and Chris doesn’t. They finally settle on Chris waiting until Dylan’s finished before starting the game.

“Sorry about that,” Mike tells him, after Dylan trots off to his bedroom, dragging his feet the whole way to the stairs.

Jeff snorts. “Yeah, I bet your are.”

“Hey, I wanted them to like me,” Mike says, shrugging around the words, and it makes Jeff’s chest go a little fuzzy, his face warm. He knows this isn’t much objectively, but it means that Mike thought about this, that Mike cares, and that means a lot to Jeff. “You’re strict, though,” he goes on, and Jeff looks away.

He rolls his eyes because he really isn’t. If anything, discipline is the part that makes him the most nervous about taking care of the kids. He’s never sure how much is too much, and how little is too little, and he hates it when it just makes them angry at him, even if it’s just for a few hours and Jeff himself knows he’s right. He’d much rather leave it up to Kaylin, but even he can see how that would be extremely unfair. “He’s grounded,” he explains to Mike.

Mike’s eyebrows rise up. “What did he do?”

“He bit a boy at practice,” Jeff mumbles out.

Mike’s eyes widen a little at that, and his mouth twitches like he thinks it’s funny. “Really?”

Jeff shrugs. He waits until he hears the TV turn on so he knows Chris won’t hear them and then says, “I think the other kid made fun of his lisp.”

“Then he had it coming.” Mike says.

“Biting’s not really the way to solve things,” Jeff says, even though he’d felt a little vindicated when he heard about it.

Mike gives him a look, one eyebrow raised, and, yeah, okay, Jeff grew up in a rink too. “Still,” he says.

The sound from the TV grows louder then, sharp, ringing off the walls, and Jeff’s used to loud noises when the kids are here, even likes them, but Mike winces, taking a step back towards the hallway. “Wait, I’ll ask him to turn it down,” Jeff starts, but Mike waves him off.

“It’s fine, man, I’ll just head upstairs,” he says, and he’s walking away before Jeff can get another word in. Jeff still walks over to the living room to tell Chris to turn to volume down.

 

 

 

Saturday morning, Jeff wakes up to Mike and Chris sitting at the breakfast counter, a handful of blue lucky charm pieces piled up in front of them. Mike nods at him when he comes in and Chris looks up from his cereal long enough to mumble out, “Good morning, dad.”

“Good morning,” Jeff says, “What are you guys doing?” he asks, jerking his head towards the cereal on the counter.

“The blue ones don’t taste as good,” Mike explains. Up until now, Jeff thought all of them tasted like sugar, but maybe his taste sense has dulled over the years.

“Mike helped me take them out,” Chris says, smiling wide enough around his spoon that some milk trickles out, down his chin and over his shirt. Jeff winces preemptively.

Mike grins and Jeff shoots him a look.

“Any plans for the day? Other than the practice?” he asks, after Chris has left to go join Dylan outside where he was playing with a basketball.

“Hmm, Chris has swimming lessons, so I’m going to watch that,” Jeff says, checking his watch, even though they have more than an hour until they have to leave.

“You don’t do any coaching for Dylan’s team?” Mike asks, surprised.

“Nah.” Jeff shrugs. “I’m not very good at it,” he says, which easier to explain than the fact he only ever visits ice rinks for Dylan’s games. From the look Mike gives him, Jeff supposes he’s not totally buying it. “You wanna come? To the pool?” he asks then, because he meant to, but also because he wants to change the subject.

Jeff can see Mike thinking about it, probably trying to decide if he feels good enough for it. He’s been looking better the past week, though, compared to what he was like when Jeff was in Columbus, that’s not saying much. Jeff still catches him squinting against bright lights, holding onto walls or chairs or tables for balance, and the way he moves his body is careful, like he’s starting to get used to this.

“We’ll just sit at the stands and watch them swim. It’s a closed gym,” he says.

That seems to satisfy Mike and he nods. He asks Jeff is there’s anything he needs Mike’s help with, but the kids’ things are ready, just need to be carried to the car, so Jeff shakes his head.

 

 

 

In the car, there are some muffled complains from Dylan about how Mike gets to sit in the front that make Jeff laugh. “He gets the front seat because the seatbelt fits him. Once the seatbelt fits you, you can sit in the front too,” he says, which is an old and practiced argument.

Hockey practice starts a little earlier than Chris’ swimming lessons, although Jeff and Kaylin generally try to match the kids’ schedules up as much as they can, so Dylan gets dropped off first. Jeff checks to make sure Dylan has everything with him, and stops him when he sees Dylan’s coat is still in the backseat.

“Wait, wait, wait, where do you think you’re going? Take your coat with you,” he says in his best stern voice, which makes Mike chuckle in the seat next to him.

Dylan makes a really sad face at Jeff. “But it’s just one minute,” he mumbles weakly.

“Coat,” Jeff repeats, and keeps looking at Dylan until he huffs and takes his coat. Jeff has clearly made progress in the sternness department.

At the gym, Jeff lets Mike choose their seats, and he’s not surprised when Mike starts heading towards the part of the stands that is the most sparsely occupied. Mike chooses a row close enough to the pool that they can still see, but far enough that the sounds of the kids and the instructors are mostly drowned out.

It’s a few minutes until Chris’ group comes out, and Jeff waits until Chris spots them before waving at him. Chris waves back and then starts heading into the water with the rest of the kids.

“How come Chris does swimming?” Mike asks him. He’s still wearing his sunglasses.

“He’s tried a few different sports.” Jeff shrugs. “Hockey, he didn’t like; soccer, he liked better but not enough to hold onto to it. Basketball he liked the most, but got bored of it pretty quickly.” Jeff can’t say he wasn’t relieved when Chris told him that, two broken teeth and who knows how many bruises later. “Kaylin and I were thinking about something music related, but swimming seems to be working out for now.”

That was probably more information than Mike wanted, and Jeff feels a little bad, but Mike just says, “He’s, uhm, he’s a little klutzy.” It’s not mean spirited, and when Jeff glances at him, Mike is smiling. “It’s cute.”

Jeff hums. “He keeps getting hurt though,” he says.

“All kids get hurt, Cartsy,” Mike says softly. He bumps their shoulders together like he can tell Jeff is not entirely comfortable with that fact of life. Jeff leans into it, for only a moment, because they might be isolated from the largest crowd, but there’re still too many people around them. “And anyway, he’s only six. I bet you weren’t the most dexterous person at six.”

“Probably not.” Jeff shrugs. It makes their arms brush together again. “Dylan has a game tomorrow. You wanna come?”

There’s a sharp whistle from one of the coaches by the water, and Mike winces, pulling into himself. “Not really,” he says, giving a nervous chuckle. “I think that’d be a little much.”

Another whistle rings through the gym, and Jeff realizes the groups of older children are doing reps in the pool. The whistles keep coming, followed by the sound of water splashing against tiles, and Jeff can feel Mike’s body twitching in time with them.

Mike waits it out for a few minutes before he shakes his head and tries to get up. He’s unsteady, listing forward, and Jeff reaches out to grab the back of coat and hold him back.

“I just wanna get some air,” Mike says, but it sounds fuzzy.

Jeff gets up with him, and even through the sunglasses, he can tell Mike glares at him. He probably glares even harder when Jeff doesn’t sit back down, and harder still when he puts his hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Let me come with you,” Jeff says, keeping his voice down.

Mike goes still and his jaw tightens, teeth grinding together. Jeff thinks this is the part where Mike would snap, almost braces himself for it, but then Mike looks around them and seems to catch himself, like he’s realizing they’re not alone.

“Richie, come on,” Jeff says gently. This is who Mike is, proud even to the point where it hurts him, and Jeff has learnt to admire it, but sometimes he thinks it’s just plain stupid. He breathes out when Mike finally gestures for him to go on, relaxes even further when Mike doesn’t brush his hand off until they’re outside.

Mike leans against the wall outside of the gym and takes off is sunglasses to rub at his eyes.

Jeff doesn’t want to push, so he takes a couple of steps back and waits quietly until Mike says, “I think I’ll head back.” Usually, Mike would sound angry, upset that he’s not getting better. Now, he just sounds resigned and Jeff didn’t think that would feel worse than Mike yelling at him, but it does.

“Okay.” He nods. “I’ll drive you.”

Mike waves him off. “No, it’s fine. I’ll jut get a cab, you should stay,” he says.

“It’s fine, I’ll still be back in time,” Jeff argues.

Mike sighs and pushes off the wall. “You don’t get to see them much, it’s really fine,” he says.

That gives Jeff pause. Mike sounds guilty, and Jeff wonders is he’s thinking about how long Jeff stayed in Columbus. He hands Mike the keys to the house and tells him to send him a text when he gets there. He waits until he sees Mike getting into the cab, and makes sure Mike gives the cabdriver the right address before heading back inside.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t see Mike again until later, after the kids have gone to bed. Jeff is half watching a movie on TV, half waiting for the washer to finish so he can switch the clothes to the drier, but mostly the second, and he looks up when Mike staggers into the living room. Jeff doesn’t know what Mike’s been doing the whole day, but he looks exhausted now as he collapses on the couch next to Jeff.

He asks Jeff what the movie’s about, so Jeff gives him a brief rundown of what he’s caught so far.

Mike nods his way through Jeff’s explanation, like he’s actually interested.

“Are you hungry? I could heat something up,” he offers after a few minutes of sitting in silence.

Mike shakes his head and sinks deeper into the cushions. “Thanks though.”

Jeff tries to get comfortable too, but it’s difficult when he’s so aware of how little space there is between them. If he concentrates, he can feel Mike’s shoulders rising and falling as he breathes.

“The kids are sleeping?” Mike asks.

“Nine o’clock sharp,” Jeff says.

Mike coughs pointedly, so maybe he heard their protests from his room.

“Okay, ten,” Jeff concedes. “But we’re working on it.” He’s pretty sure not even Kaylin can make bedtime on a Saturday.

“I feel kinda bad for hogging all your time with them,” Mike says. It’s light, but Jeff thinks he can make out an undercurrent of seriousness.

He elbows Mike in the ribs, not too rough. “You literally just spent ten hours locked in a room. You’re not hogging anybody’s time,” Jeff says.

Mike shrugs, and for a few minutes they just focus on the movie. Then, Jeff says, “I like you a lot more when you’re not yelling at me,” because it’s only fair he shares something too.

“Sorry about all that. I know you’re trying to help.” Jeff mostly meant it as a joke, but Mike’s voice is serious. “My nerves are just all over the place, and I keep expecting it to get better,” Mike goes on, “and it doesn’t.”

There are a lot of things Jeff could say to that. He could say that head injuries take time, which is what he always says – what _everyone_ always says. He could say that Mike should just be patient, but that’s another thing that everyone says. Talking about this would be difficult for anyone though, much less Mike, and Jeff doesn’t want to make it even harder. “I know,” he says, “That part sucks.”

The only light in the room is coming from the television, but Jeff can tell Mike wasn’t expecting that from the way Mike turns to look at him. There are a few seconds where they’re both quiet, and it’s awkward until Mike says, “I’m really sorry about your knee. That was fucked up.”

It’s Jeff’s turn to be surprised, surprised by how angry Mike sounds. Angry on Jeff’s behalf.

“You barely got ten games in,” Mike says.

“Eleven,” Jeff corrects, not that it matters too much. It would feel just as bad if he’d gotten a season in, or at least that’s what he always tells himself whenever he gets morose. “It’s done now though,” he says, meaning the injury and everything that came with it.

“Is it?” Mike pushes. He’s careful, not mean like the time he asked Jeff about this in Columbus.

That’s what makes Jeff go on. “Not really.” He doesn’t think it will ever be done, the disappointment and the _anger_ of his career ending like that. But that’s what it’s like for everyone else too.

When Mike doesn’t mean to hurt, he knows when to stop. He stops now. “Please switch the channel to something else. The acting’s really bad,” he says.

Jeff scoffs at Mike’s acting standards, and starts going through he channels, slower than he would if he were by himself. Mike tells him to stop at a one of those networks that play infomercials all day long, and Jeff rolls his eyes even harder. “Right, because the acting here is _so_ much better,” he says.

“At least this is interesting,” Mike argues.

He actually gets pretty into it, giving Jeff commentary on the jewelry the lady on the screen is trying to sell. “Oh, that’s nice,” he says, when they shows a necklace of fake silver and even faker diamonds. At least, Jeff supposes they’re fake. He sincerely doubts it would only be eighty bucks if they were real.

“Is this what you watch when you can’t sleep?” Jeff narrows his eyes at him. Mike sounds awfully familiar with these products

“Just sometimes,” Mike says, defensive.

“That’s depressing.”

Mike elbows him in his side, gentle, but doesn’t pull away after.

The lady on TV switches to rings, which dims Mike’s enthusiasm. He doesn’t make any comments until she moves onto engagement rings. “I’d really like one of those,” he says, wistful.

Jeff frowns. “A ring?”

“Well, not a _ring_ ring. More like, what the ring symbolizes and, you know,” he says.

“Did you take the heavy painkillers?” Jeff jokes.

Mike laughs and jabs his elbow into Jeff’s side for real now. “No, asshole. I’m just saying. The symbolism is nice.”

Jeff can’t be sure in this lighting, but he thinks Mike might be blushing. “It is,” he says, before Mike can get too embarrassed.

“You know I got Maggie one? Like, asked her to marry me?” Mike says, eyes glued to the TV, and no, Jeff didn’t know that; Jeff didn’t even know Mike and Maggie had broken up.

“No, I… uhm, I didn’t know that,” Jeff says, “What did she say?”

Mike turns around to face him, frowning, like, _what do you think?_ “She said no. I mean – I don’t know, I think I kinda wanted her to say no.”

Jeff isn’t sure what to say to that, except the obvious, _then why did you ask in the first place_ , but then again, he remembers feeling relieved, just a little, when Kaylin had suggested the divorce, relieved that he wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

“Anyway,” Mike says, before Jeff can come up with anything worthwhile. “Things weren’t – it’s hard, to come back from that.”

“That’s sad,” Jeff says, “The first time I watched my wedding video after the divorce, I cried,” he shares.

Mike very slowly turns to face him. He’s got a slightly mortified look on his face, brows twisted together and mouth scrunched into an awkward frown. “You just took sad to a whole new level,” he says, very, very serious.

It startles a laugh out of Jeff, and Mike joins in, even though this whole conversation is just plain _sad_. They both try to keep it down, both aware of the kids sleeping upstairs, but it feels good to be able to do this. It’s not quite like things are back to what they used to, and Jeff can’t pretend that, not with how his eyes are drawn to the curve of Mike’s neck or with how his stomach curls with satisfaction at making Mike laugh like this, but it’s maybe like they’re building something new.

“Hey, Mike,” Jeff says, once they’ve both calmed down a little.

Mike’s eyes are shiny looking at him. “Yeah,” he says.

“You’ll get your metaphorical ring,” Jeff says. It’s not what he’d say before. Before, he’d say something about Mike being a slob, he’d try to make a joke of it, and they’d both laugh, but that’s not what he wants now. He hopes Mike can tell so, even though the prospect scares him.

Jeff thinks Mike gets it. Mike _has_ to get it with the way he’s smiling, a little teasing and too sweet to be directed at Jeff. “You think so, Jeff?” he asks. Jeff doesn’t know if he’s projecting, but he thinks it sounds deliberate. And even if it didn’t, the way Mike blinks up at him, slow, that _is_ deliberate.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, dropping his voice down to a whisper. “Yeah, I really think so.”

Mike looks a little surprised by that, but he doesn’t stop smiling. He meets Jeff’s eyes, and there’s something there, something Jeff can’t identify, but it still makes his heart speed up, his ribcage sort of try and squeeze into itself, and it’s not—it’s not entirely uncomfortable. Their bodies are touching from shoulder to hip, and they’re into each other’s space, but none of this is entirely uncomfortable.

Jeff slowly moves his arm from between them to drape along the back of the couch behind Mike’s shoulders. His fingers slip into Mike’s hair, tugging at the starts at the base of Mike’s neck. Mike closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, they settle on Jeff’s lips.

Jeff is starting to sweat, and his heart will not calm down in his chest, but Mike is still smiling. Jeff leans in a few inches, then leans in more when Mike doesn’t move away because there’s no way Mike doesn’t see where this going, no way, so Jeff closes his eyes and brushes their lips together. He can hear Mike’s breath catching and then Mike is kissing him back, hand coming up to cup Jeff’s jaw, draw him closer.

It feels like relief, Jeff thinks distantly, that Mike didn’t push him away. Then Mike pulls back, too soon, and Jeff feels—disappointed. He feels disappointed. He feels like he should ask—something. Because this is a big deal, they just kissed, he just kissed _Mike_ , and he knew, realistically, this is what was going to happen, but it’s different now. Now that it’s actually happened, it’s more than something Jeff simply wants.

He looks to Mike, because Mike has done this before, he’s kissed Jeff and he’s kissed other guys too, but Mike is not looking at him. Mike is holding himself so still, almost shaking with it. His breathing is loud and his lips are turning white. “Jeff,” he says finally, and his voice carries the same tightness as his body. “Jeff, what. This is really, it’s really confusing. You’re giving me all these, all these mixed feelings, and I don’t know what to do with them.”

Jeff’s face feels too warm when he asks, “What kind of feelings?”

“I don’t know.” Mike shrugs, but it looks forced more than anything. “That you,” he pauses, and Jeff knows what’s coming, can tell from the way Mike braces himself. “That you want me, and you want this, and that’s really fucking confusing, Jeff,” he says, all in a rush.

Jeff can barely hear himself think over the thump of his own heart. “What if I do?” he asks.

Mike looks up. His eyes dig in sharply when they meet Jeff’s and Jeff thinks Mike wasn’t expecting that response from him.

“What if I do?” Jeff asks again, still scared but not as terrified.

Mike doesn’t answer. Mike just keeps looking at Jeff, intent enough that Jeff knows for sure Mike is looking for something. Then Mike starts shifting, and Jeff thinks maybe he’ll get up and leave. Jeff wouldn’t blame him, would maybe even be grateful for the space to breathe again. But Mike just slides onto the next couch cushion and kicks his feet up on the ottoman in front of him. There’s a foot of space between them now, but this doesn’t make Jeff’s lungs any more cooperative.

“We probably shouldn’t talk about this now,” Mike says after what feels like an hour. “It’s late.”

The lady on TV is still showing the same pair of earrings, so it probably hasn’t been more than a couple of minutes. “Yeah,” Jeff says. His throat feels dry. He thinks about getting up for some water, but Mike turns to give him a small smile then, and that lifts the weight on Jeff’s chest somewhat. It slows his heart down, just a little. “Tomorrow,” Jeff says, because that feels easy. It’s dark, there’s no one else around, and there’s a cushion of space between them. It doesn’t sound hard then.

 

 

 

When Jeff wakes up, it’s because he almost falls off the couch. He knows this because he can feel that there’s nothing but air against his back, and when he opens his eyes, he’s staring at the back of the couch. He can’t feel his left hand, and he looks down to see Mike lying half on top of it, which would defiantly explain the loss of feeling. Now, Jeff’s couch is wide, but it’s not wide enough to fit two people their sizes.

Jeff starts getting up, but it’s a slow process as he tries to untangle himself from Mike without jostling him too much and also land on his own two feet. He manages it, in the end, and breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees it’s just before four in the morning. He looks down at Mike and really can’t tell what they were thinking, falling asleep like that when the kids could come down at any moment.

He remembers how they kissed then, how Jeff had said they’d talk about it today. The memory feels harsher in the light of day, even though the sun is not even out yet. Jeff rubs a hand over his face to wake himself up and then shakes Mike’s shoulder.

Mike’s eyes open quickly enough that Jeff startles but it takes them a few seconds until they focus on Jeff. “Hey,” Mike says, groggy. “Hey, what—”

“It’s just four, but we need to head upstairs,” Jeff says gently.

Mike nods, but it’s pretty clear he didn’t catch any of that. Jeff waits until it looks like Mike is starting to get a feel for his surroundings again before helping him up. They get to the stairs where Mike makes a pained face but holds on to Jeff until they make it to the guestroom he’s sleeping in. Jeff watches him collapse on the bed and then closes the door behind him and goes to do the same. It takes him a while, which is strange considering how he just feel asleep on a sofa with one of his side of his body buried under Mike.

 

 

 

They don’t end up talking about it. Jeff can’t pretend it’s not at least deliberate on his part, but the fact that they barely get any time alone over the course of the day doesn’t help their situation either. But Jeff is happy to see that Dylan and Chris’ fondness of Mike extends beyond being bribed with video games and well into them insisting Mike plays Monopoly with them because, “Four people is way funner that three, dad”.

Jeff rolls his eyes at that and tries to tell them that Mike is probably tired, but Mike agrees enthusiastically before Jeff can get more then three words in. Mike presumes to lose in dramatic and, Jeff is pretty sure, purposeful fashion, but it makes Chris smile gleefully around his piles of paper-money.

Later, in the afternoon, before Jeff takes Dylan and Chris to the rink for Dylan’s game, he makes sure to ask Mike one more time if he’s sure he doesn’t want to come.

Mike shakes his head, says, “No, no, I’m fine. Have fun though.” His eyes dart up to meet Jeff’s, and he moves one of his hands to Jeff’s shoulder, squeezes once. It’s not awkward, not really, but it is unmistakably calculated, and Jeff has to make an effort not to stare.

“Thanks,” Jeff says but it comes out rough.

The rink is mostly empty when they get there, save for a few parents who had to drive their kids for the game. Jeff lets Chris herd him to a row of seats just in front of the glass and texts Kaylin to let her know where they’re sitting so she’ll be able to find them. For all that Chris doesn’t like playing hockey, he enjoys watching it, so as soon as the teams come out on the ice, he gets up and mashes his face against the glass. 

“Hey, be careful,” Jeff says, pulling him back a little. “Don’t let your face touch the glass, okay?” The boards look sturdy enough, but Jeff can’t rule out some sort of freak puck accident with Chris’ luck.

Kaylin joins them just as the game’s about to start, apologizing profusely at the handful of people she squeezes through so she can sit on Chris’ other side. “Hey, honey,” she says, and ruffles Chris’ hair. “Didn’t miss anything, right?” She sounds a little out of breath, and her cheeks are flushed, like she had to hurry to get here.

“No, you’re good,” Jeff says, “Hit traffic on the way?”

Kaylin shakes her head and pulls out a bag of chips from her purse. “Nah, just wanted to stop on the way for these,” she says. She shrugs off her coat and opens the chips, grabbing a handful. “What? Food here is overpriced,” she point out when she says Jeff’s raised eyebrows.

Jeff rolls his eyes even though he agrees and reaches out to take some chips too because they’re right there. “You want some, buddy?” he asks and has to nudge Chris’ shoulder to get his attention.

Chris looks away from the ice where the kids are shooting pucks into the nets long enough to give the chips a critical look and scrunch up his face. “I don’t like barbeque,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I got these for you,” Kaylin says, and pulls out another bag from her purse, this one just plain salted chips, to hand to Chris.

“How many do you have in there?” Jeff asks, a little incredulous. It’s a very small purse.

“Just these two,” Kaylin says innocently.

“Shh,” Chris shushes them both, sharp, with all the authority a six year old can muster. “They’re starting.”

Jeff has to hide his smile at that, but he stays quiet as the team captains get ready for the opening faceoff. Dylan’s team is not really big on, say, goaltending, or defense, which is perfectly fine for a group of nine-year olds, but can lead to a bit of a flawed game plan. As it turns out though, the other team isn’t either, so Dylan’s team ends up scoring first, just a couple of minutes into the game. Kaylin, despite her endless grumbling about hockey being a dangerous sport, ends up cheering louder than either Jeff or Chris, and even taps the glass when Dylan gets the assist.

Of course, the other team ties it up only one minute later, because, see above: defense, and that has the other half of the rink cheering. The rest of the period goes like that, until the clock runs out and the score is 4-4. 

“Richie didn’t want to come?” Kaylin asks, once Chris gives them permission to discuss things that aren’t the game again.

Jeff can feel his chest go a little tight with panic, and tries to reason with himself that Kaylin can’t possibly be implying anything with that question. “No, he, uhm, his head is not really up for that yet,” he says, keeping his voice down.

Kaylin nods and doesn’t seem to read anything into it. Jeff relaxes. “I was kinda looking forward to seeing him,” Kaylin says then, and Jeff’s hackles go right up again.

“Uhm, yeah,” he says quickly. “You’ll probably catch him tomorrow once you come by to get the kids’ things,” he adds, because it’d be weird to leave that out.

“Oh, you’re right,” Kaylin says. Jeff can tell she’s happy about it.

“Dad, I don’t want any more,” Chris says then, and Jeff breathes out. When he looks down at him, Chris is holding out the bag of chips, now half empty, and he’s got salt and grease covering his fingers and palms. Jeff takes the bag from him and hurries to give him a napkin, or anything really, to wipe his hands with, but Chris beats him to it, just starts rubbing his hands all over his jeans.

“I… I had a tissue,” Jeff says gently.

Chris seems startled for a moment, like he hadn’t even considered the possibility of wiping his hands anywhere but on his jeans. He looks down at his hands, presumably checking them, and then shrugs. “They’re clean now. But thanks,” he says cheerfully.

Jeff looks up to find Kaylin smirking at him. Just out of spite, he decides not to bother with laundry, just let her deal with the chip grease that was her idea in the first place anyways.

 

 

 

Back home, Jeff is surprised to find Mike sitting at the couch in the living room, waiting for them to get back. He’s turned towards the TV, but he turns around when the three of them stumble inside, and smiles, and Jeff feels warmth spreading through his chest at just seeing him there, in his house, comfortable.

“Hey,” Mike says, and Jeff smiles back, sort of helplessly.

Then Dylan climbs up on the couch next to Mike, still bouncing with energy after the game, and Mike looks away. “Hey, bud, how was the game?” he asks.

“It was really fun,” Dylan says, giddy. “I mean, we lost, 13-11, but it was super fun.”

Mike laughs. “That’s what matters,” he says.

“Dylan had five assists,” Jeff says to Mike, because he knows Dylan won’t say it himself.

Dylan blushes, his whole face turning a bright red, and Mike gives him a decidedly impressed look. “Five assists? Wow, that’s, like, that’s a lot of assists,” he says.

Dylan shrugs, playing it off. “Yeah, I fell down a lot though,” he says. He shifts back a little so Chris can sit between him and Mike.

“Pfft,” Mike says, waving him off. “Everybody falls down. I used to fall down all the time.”

“Really?” Dylan asks, biting his lip.

“Yeah.” Mike nods. “When I got drafted, people kept saying I didn’t know how to skate,” he says. Jeff thinks that’s a slight exaggeration; Mike’s skating was never his strongest attribute but it was never that bad. He appreciates what Mike’s trying to do though.

“But you were in the NHL,” Dylan argues.

“I know, right?” Mike says, mock offended.

Dylan pauses for a second, looking almost shy, then asks, “Did my dad use to fall, too?”

Jeff stills where he’s leaning against the wall, carefully watching their conversation play out. Dylan never asks him about hockey, and Jeff will be the first to admit that he’s not exactly willing to talk about it, but he thought Dylan just wasn’t that interested in knowing.

Mike’s turns around to glance at him over the back of the couch, smirking. “Well, your dad was a great skater,” he starts. “But he fell down _all_ the time.”

“Hey!” Jeff interrupts, because he did not, and if Mike’s gonna tell stories about his playing career, he might as well be honest. “I did not.”

“He did too,” Mike argues. “But see, with your dad, it would be like, a guy from the other team would bump into him and so your dad would fall on the ice, just sit there for a few seconds, making sad faces at the referee,” he says, which a complete and utter lie that Mike should quit spreading around.

“Ew, dad, gross,” Dylan lets out, frowning in apparent disgust. “You’re not supposed to beg for penalties,” he says. His coach is very intent on that.

“I wasn’t,” Jeff tries to protest, just as Mike says, “That’s what I told him too.” He and Dylan high five, and honestly, Jeff doesn’t even know why he bothers. He shakes his head and takes his phone out of his pocket so he can and order the pizzas, but then he hears Chris ask, “What else was he like when he played?”, and he puts his phone back. The pizzas won’t go anywhere in the next five minutes.

Mike makes a thoughtful noise and makes sure to meet Jeff’s eyes again before he goes on. “He really didn’t like getting dirty. He had goal scorer hands, you see,” he says, which makes both Dylan and Chris laugh. “Seriously, a few years ago—wait, do you know the Chicago Blackhawks?” he stops to ask.

They both frown simultaneously, and at least Jeff can take some pride in the fact that his children’s loyalties are set.

“Okay, so, your dad and I used to play together on the Kings, and a few years ago, in 2013, we were playing the hawks in the third round of the playoffs,” Mike starts. He’s smiling still, and Jeff already knows which story Mike’s going to tell. The memory makes his skin prickle, even after all these years, uncomfortably similar to the video Jeff watched just a short moth ago. He thinks about stopping Mike, because this isn’t a story for kids, except Jeff knows Mike will leave all the ugly parts out, will manage to make it funny even though he got a concussion out of it.

“This is, like, the third period, the game’s almost over, and a guy runs into me, so I end up hitting my head into the boards. It’s pretty bad, I was shaken up, and your dad,” he pauses, Jeff supposes to enhance the dramatic effect of Jeff’s antics, and meets Jeff’s eyes again. “Your dad goes and trips the guy up, and then just lays on top of him for a solid minute until the ref blows the whistle,” Mike says, eyes sparking with amusement.

“Isn’t that against the rules?” Chris asks skeptically.

“Oh yeah, your dad got a penalty,” Mike says, “But at least he tried to defend my honor, right?”

“You have no honor,” Jeff grumbles.

Mike laughs, eyes sparkling with amusement, which is when Jeff realizes that it’s been a while since he last saw him this happy. He doesn’t fool himself by thinking this is all him; it’s probably a combination of factors, including and depending on how his head feels, but it still makes Jeff’s stomach twist in satisfaction that he made it happen, even partly. He makes sure to give Mike another smile when their eyes meet again, but after that he has to admit that he should really go about ordering the pizza now if he’d like for Dylan to not eat the furniture.

When he hangs up the phone, there are still laughs coming from the living room, so Jeff figures that Mike can handle the kids for a few minutes longer while Jeff throws together a salad. He sets the table too while he’s at it, four plates this time.

He walks back to the living room to send the kids off to wash their hands, and finds Mike reiterating the story of how Jeff “stole” his dog. Jeff doesn’t even wait until he’s heard more than two words of it before interrupting Mike. “He’s lying, I did not steal his dog,” he says, and both Dylan and Chris give him extremely unconvinced looks. Oh god, Mike has turned them.

“I’m not kidding, I came back and your dad was nowhere to be found, my dog was nowhere to be found, and your dad wasn’t answering my calls. It was a very stressful time,” Mike says. Jeff’s kids don’t give Mike unconvinced looks.

“That’s so mean, dad,” Chris says, which, yeah, it would be mean, if it were true, only it isn’t, and now Jeff is an dishonored man in the eyes of his children.

“So mean, Jeff,” Mike joins in, just to rub salt in the wound.

Jeff rolls his eyes as hard as he can manage and ushers the kids off to the bathroom to wash their hands. “I’ll know if you don’t wash them,” he says, because sometimes they think they can trick him. Without at least wetting the soap or something. Their deception game is weak.

“Really, thanks for that,” Jeff says sarcastically, once he and Mike are alone.

Mike smiles, which is unfair, because Jeff can’t even stay mad now. Or pretend to be mad for, you know, some measure of pride or whatever.

“Now they’ve lost all respect for me,” Jeff goes on. All the carefully cultivated respect that Jeff had to work for.

“Why do you say that? I, for one, find that time your laid on top of Dave Bolland to be worthy of extreme amounts of respect,” Mike says, grinning from ear to ear.

Jeff’s face sort of hurts watching him, and his stomach has been in knots since he walked through the door, but it’s—it’s nice.

 

 

 

The next morning is rough, or rather, rougher than usual, because Jeff has to oversee awkward goodbyes between Mike and his kids on top of trying to be on time. He also has to field questions like, “Is Mike visiting again?” in the car, which he would be better equipped to handle if he actually knew the answers to. As it is, he says, “I’m sure he will. Maybe in the summer?”, and tries no to feel guilty about it because he heard Mike tell them the same thing back at the house.

After he drops the kids off, Jeff makes an extra hard effort to get stuck in traffic, not that it’s a struggle on a regular day, but he knows that now, without the kids acting a buffer between Mike and he, they’re going to have to talk about all the things they’ve been ignoring. Unless Mike is as into willful obliviousness as Jeff, which is extremely doubtful, since, you know, he’s actually in touch with his feelings. Whatever.

When Jeff gets back, the house is empty and all remnants of breakfast are gone from the kitchen, the counters wiped down and the dishes neatly set to dry on the rack. The sliding door that leads out to the deck is unlocked, so Jeff doesn’t panic about where Mike is, just grabs a towel and starts putting the plates away.

He’s more than halfway through when he hears the door slide open behind him, and when he turns around, Mike is walking in, looking a little chilled from the morning air. He glances up at Jeff and smiles, and it looks a little shy. “Hey,” he says.

Jeff smiles back, forgets to feel nervous for a moment. “Hey,” he says back. “The beach looks good?”

Mike nods, turns around to close the door behind him. “Yeah, I mean—I kinda missed it. A little bit,” he says.

Jeff hums thoughtfully. “Well, you’ve got cornfields to visit now,” he says, because he can’t not.

Mike rolls his eyes at him. “There are no cornfields in Columbus,” he says, actually manages to sound a little offended too.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jeff mumbles, although he’s not really bitter about Columbus, not anymore.

Mike doesn’t have anything to say that, other than another eyeroll that Jeff can practically hear. He stays quiet as Jeff finished up with the dishes, and Jeff does too.

“So,” Mike says, once everything’s been put away. It’s measured, and practiced, and just like that Jeff can feel his anxiety from earlier in the morning bubbling back up.

“So,” Jeff parrots, moving to stand across from Mike on the other side of the breakfast counter.

“We’re alone now,” Mike says, and that’s measured too.

Jeff knows what follows. “Yes we are,” he says, and Mike gives him an annoyed look. Jeff looks away. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows he’s essentially forcing Mike to have this conversation by himself, but the last few days, when Mike wasn’t holed up in his room with the door locked, when he smiled and joked around and let Jeff kiss him, those few days felt good. They made Jeff _ache_. Ache for all the things he doesn’t get to have anymore.

And Jeff doesn’t want to break the spell.

“We need to talk,” Mike says, a little colder now.

Jeff nods. He looks up, but Mike is not looking at him. His eyes are darting around the room, jumping from corner to corner. Mike’s nervous, Jeff realizes, more so than he’s letting on.

It is that what gives Jeff the courage to walk around the counter, move to stand next to Mike. Mike still won’t look at him, his body sitting stiff now, so Jeff wraps his fingers around Mike’s wrist, moves even closer to him when Mike doesn’t brush him off. “Mike,” Jeff says, and hopes that’s enough because that’s all he has.

Jeff feels more than hears the relieved breath Mike lets out. “Fuck,” he says, “I thought, for a second, maybe it wasn’t—like, it hadn’t actually…” he trails off, but it doesn’t take much for Jeff to figure out what Mike means. That it hadn’t actually happened, that night on the couch. The thought fills his mouth with a bitter taste, one that he doesn’t care to examine too closely.

But he doesn’t Mike to remember it like that, so he moves his other hand to Mike’s face, rubs his thumb over Mike’s temple. Like this, with Mike sitting on the stool, Mike really has to look up to meet Jeff’s eyes, which Jeff knows is not his favorite thing in the world, so he makes it easier on him, ducks down the rest of the way to kiss him.

Jeff’s heart is beating in his throat, so loud and so hard, but he still hears the breath Mike takes in, sharp and a little wheezy through his nose. He stands up, awkwardly, presses against Jeff and kisses him back, but it’s only for a moment. He pulls away then, almost sudden, and looks up at Jeff with wide eyes, like he’s just realizing what’s happening. His mouth opens, no words coming out at first, and then, when they do, they’re cut-off and jumbled together. “Jeff, you—you really meant that?” is what he settles on in the end.

Jeff swallows. It always hits him with sudden clarity how close they are. He lets his hand drop from Mike’s face to his waist. “I just… I think.” Jeff gets his words mixed up too. “I really want to kiss you,” he manages to get out in the end. His voice comes out shaky but he can’t tell if Mike hears it. “Can I?” he makes himself ask. “Can I kiss you?”

Mike’s expression doesn’t change, the same kind of shocked. He licks his lips and swallows. There’s a moment, maybe two seconds long, where they just stare at each other, and then Mike’s eyes flash. He puts his hand on Jeff’s wrist, the one that’s wrapped around his waist, and Jeff thinks he’s gonna push him away, but Mike just moves his hand higher until it’s resting on Jeff’s shoulder.

Neither of them looks away for what feels like forever, and then Jeff leans down just as Mike goes on the tips of his toes and they’re kissing again. It’s not like the first time—or actually the second time, Jeff should say—on he couch. It’s not like the time just a few seconds ago either. It feels different, and Jeff finally lets himself sink into it. Mike’s lips feel firmer than Jeff expected, and his beard softer, almost tickly under Jeff’s nose and on his lips.

Jeff’s head feels like it’s swimming, and when Mike parts his lips, just a little, Jeff presses closer, until Mike’s lower back is flush against the counter. They’re touching so much like this, all the way from their legs up to their chests, and this part is different too but not really. Mike is more solid against him, but Jeff can feel him breathe just the same, can feel the heat of his body and the way he leans into Jeff.

When he pulls back, Jeff’s head is definitely swimming, and he can’t seem to be able to look away from Mike. His cheeks are flushed, and the beard is doing little to nothing to hide it, but his ears are the worst, a vibrant red that Jeff hasn’t seen on Mike before.

Mike doesn’t shy away from Jeff’s scrutiny, if anything he presses closer, and Jeff can—he can feel how warm he is even through his clothes. He really, _really_ hopes he’s not reading this wrong when he says, “Come on”.

Mike gives him nothing for a few seconds, but then he nods, so Jeff probably didn’t fuck that up too badly. He takes Jeff’s hand and lets Jeff lead him to his bedroom, and it should be awkward, it should not be this easy. Mike parts his lips and wraps his arms around Jeff’s shoulders when Jeff cranes his neck down to kiss him and Jeff thinks, with any other person, it would be, probably.

The room is dark still, all the curtains drawn over the windows, so they can barely see each other, but Jeff doesn’t want to move away for long enough to pull them back, and he thinks he prefers it like this anyways. His heart is thumping in his chest, and he’s sweating, just a little, as he walks Mike back towards the bed. Mike’s legs hit the mattress, and he sinks down on it, propping himself up on his elbows. He raises an eyebrow at Jeff, and it’s inviting, challenging—Jeff has no idea—but he pulls off his sweater and moves to lie on the bed next to Mike.

Mike’s eyes are a little wider now, and his hand hovers over Jeff’s chest, like Jeff might stop him, so Jeff smiles with confidence that he doesn’t really feel and brushes their lips together. He can feel goosebumps breaking over his arms when Mike’s hand finally settles on his shoulder, but it’s more surprise than anything else. He hooks his fingers under Mike’s shirt, starts taking it off him, and Mike sits up long enough to peel it the rest of the way off.

When Mike lies back down, Jeff rolls on top of him, still keeping himself up on his elbows on either side of Mike’s head because he doesn’t want to crush him. He leans down and brushes his nose over Mike’s cheekbone but that—that feels too real, it makes _this_ feel too real, and that makes Jeff’s stomach tighten up uncomfortably, so he moves to kiss him instead.

“Jeff,” Mike breathes out.

Jeff pulls back a little. Mike’s eyes are closed and his fingers are holding tightly onto Jeff’s shoulder. “Okay?” Jeff asks, because Mike is holding himself very still and Jeff isn't sure what to do with that.

Mike opens his eyes, looking up at him. His pupils are so blown that there’s barely any brown showing around them. “Yeah,” he says, “Yeah, come on.” He starts pulling at Jeff’s shoulder until Jeff stops holding himself over Mike and just lies on top of him. Jeff can feel how Mike’s breath gets squeezed out of him then, but he takes Jeff’s weight easily.

“Are you sure you can… like, you know?” Jeff asks. He doesn’t want this to mess with Mike’s head.

Mike frowns at him for a second, and then he realizes what Jeff’s talking about and rolls his eyes, like he thinks Jeff’s being ridiculous. “My dick’s fine,” he grumbles, which, yeah, that’s a good point. Because Mike has a dick, which Jeff has seen before, from various distances and angles, because showers and locker rooms are things that exist, just never been this close to it.

Or Mike.

Mike, who is looking up at him now, holding Jeff close to him, and if his nails are digging into Jeff’s shoulders a little too harshly, then it’s not big deal. If his eyes are looking into Jeff’s a little too softly, then that’s not a big deal either.

Jeff shakes his head, clears his thoughts, goes back to kissing Mike. He runs his hand down Mike’s side, pressing along what parts of Mike’s body that he can reach. Mike feels warm underneath him, almost too warm, but hard too. There’re no curves for Jeff to touch, just the hard jut of bones, and he smells different too.

Mike makes a noise when Jeff’s lips slow, and he flips them over until Jeff’s trapped between him and the mattress. He makes it look easy too, which is enough to give Jeff pause for a moment, because he’s not used to getting pushed around like that. Mike straddles Jeff’s hips and presses down on his chest, and he probably—he could keep Jeff there, if he really wanted to.

Jeff’s breath starts coming quicker and when they kiss again, it’s rougher, nothing like that night on the couch. Jeff thinks he likes this better, so he kisses back just as hard, moves his hands to Mike’s ass to pull him down. He’s hard, and Mike’s hard too, Jeff can feel it through his jeans, which makes sense, Mike is into guys, into Jeff, and Jeff—Jeff is into _this_.

Mike moves his lips to Jeff’s throat; his beard is tickly there and Jeff squirms, not sure if he wants to move away or towards it. He moves his hand around Mike to feel the muscles of his back shift, but that’s too different than what Jeff’s used to. His brain keeps getting stuck on that part, on all the differences, and Jeff keeps expecting for this to start feeling bad, or at least not this good, but it doesn’t.

Jeff thought it would. He thinks it should.

Jeff bends his knees and flips them over so he’s on top of Mike again and kisses him. He bites at Mike’s lips and Mike moans into his mouth. Jeff kisses him harder and moves his thigh between Mike’s legs, pressing their hips together, and yeah, that’s better, that part he doesn’t have to think about so hard. That part is about getting off.

He can feel Mike’s hand working between them to unbuckle his jeans so Jeff sits back to do the same. He doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to do when he lies back down, and he thinks Mike knows, or he can tell, because his fingers are slow moving into Jeff’s underwear, wrapping around his dick. Jeff’s breath hitches in his throat and he buries his face in Mike’s neck to hide it, but that feels too close as well, even more intimate than kissing.

He moves his hand in Mike’s underwear too, and tries to mimic what Mike’s doing to him, or what Jeff likes to do to himself, just tries to do something to keep himself from thinking about how hard his heart is pounding, or how warm his skin feels.

“Yeah, that’s good,” Mike whispers into his ear, pushing into Jeff’s hand. He sounds rough and a little a desperate, his chest moving quickly under Jeff’s.

Jeff’s stomach feels kinda fluttery, so he makes his hand move faster, and Mike matches his speed. Mike nudges his nose against Jeff’s jaw, so Jeff turns his head to kiss him, but it’s more breathing into each other’s mouths than anything else. Jeff twists his palm over the head of Mike’s cock and it makes Mike shudder, so he does it again. “Come on,” he says. For a second he doesn't even recognize his own voice.

It’s only a few seconds before Mike’s body freezes, and his hand around Jeff’s cock turns impossibly tight while he comes between them. He’s panting and Jeff is _so_ close, so he moves his hand around Mike’s and finishes himself off, messing up both their stomachs.

Jeff’s blood is pounding in his ears when he rolls off to lie on his back. His lips feel swollen. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. Probably clean up or something.

Mike’s breath is labored next to him. It reminds Jeff of sitting next to him on the bench, which is maybe a little weird to think about right after sex, but it’s familiar. He tries to soak that up as much as he can.

“Here,” he hears Mike say, and then there’s a box of tissues dumped on his stomach. Jeff blinks, forces his attention back into this room. Mike is still shirtless sitting on the bed, but he’s got his jeans buttoned back up.

“Thanks,” Jeff says, sitting up. He cleans himself up as much as he can and dumps the tissues on the floor to pick up later. He thinks about kicking his jeans straight off, but he feels naked enough as it is, so he just pulls them back on.

They’re both quiet after that, but Mike doesn’t leave. That makes Jeff feel better about this, somehow. It takes him a few minutes to find the courage to look at Mike again though, but Mike looks just the same as before, maybe a little rung out. It’s not as if Jeff expected Mike to have grown a second head in the span of the last few minutes, but he expected—something. Something different.

Except, here Mike is, breathing through of his mouth in that really loud way of his that Jeff can’t even bring himself to notice anymore. Here he is, looking at Jeff, tired and a little guarded. Like maybe he’s expecting Jeff to get up and leave too, or make Mike leave.

Jeff shifts until he’s sitting up against the headboard, mirroring Mike’s sprawl. They still don’t say anything, but Mike’s palm is resting on the mattress between them. Jeff glances at it, glances at his own hands in his lap, and puts his hand down on the mattress next to Mike’s.

“I don’t know what’s supposed to happen now,” Jeff confesses.

Mike shrugs next to him, doesn’t grace Jeff with his wisdom or anything like that. He stretches his fingers out though, on the bed, between their legs, and Jeff stretches his out too, until their pinkies and ring fingers are touching. It’s not really much, but it makes Jeff feel lighter, makes this whole thing between Mike and he easier.

Jeff takes a deep breath, holds it until he can’t anymore. “What I said—” he starts, but he’s cut off by the doorbell. It sounds louder than it actually is in the quiet room, makes both of them jump.

Jeff tries to think of who might be visiting him this early on a Monday morning, but no one comes to mind. The doorbell rings again, and Mike asks, “Are you gonna get that?” His voice sounds tight, and Jeff deflates.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, “Yeah, you’re right.” He gets up and walks around the bed to grab his sweater off the floor, pulls it over his head, maybe rougher than necessary. He looks at Mike and tries to say something worthwhile, anything, but the doorbell rings again, and Jeff ends up leaving the room with just a pathetic wave.

He’s annoyed by the time he gets downstairs, doesn’t bother checking who it is before pulling the door open. He blinks when he sees Kaylin standing there, blinks again a second time. He checks his watch in case he missed two or three hours, but it’s still too early for her to be here. “Uhm,” he starts uselessly.

Kaylin rolls her eyes and pushes past him to come inside. “Took you long enough,” she grumbles. “Where were you?”

It’s not suspicious but it still makes Jeff deeply aware of how he didn’t even check himself or his clothes before rushing to get the door. “Just upstairs,” he mumbles. He makes sure to turn his back to her as he closes the door, and uses the opportunity to glance down at himself. Nothing looks incrimination or out of place but Jeff can’t help thinking that she’ll know, somehow she’ll know. The thought makes him stiff, makes him smooth a hand over his sweater before turning to follow her to the kitchen.

“You’re early,” he thinks to point out. He discreetly looks over the kitchen, the counters and the floor even though they didn’t—they didn’t do anything here, but Jeff still needs to be sure.

Kaylin shrugs. She’s already set the coffee to brew and now she stretches to grab a cup from one of the cupboards. “Yeah, I have a meeting later, didn’t know how long it was going to run,” she says, “I was hoping to see Mike, too?”

Jeff tries to look as unaffected as he can by that, but there must still be something there, on his face, because Kaylin frowns at him. “Is this a bad time?” she asks.

Jeff is shaking his head before she’s even finished asking. “No, no,” he’s quick to say. “He’s just, uhm, I’ll go get him.”

Kaylin nods, satisfied, and then they both stand there and look at each other for a few seconds. “Well, maybe you should get to that then?” Kaylin suggests, giving Jeff a funny look.

She’s got a point, and Jeff walks to the stairs at a regular speed before taking the steps two at a time to get to his room. Mike is still there, but he’s dressed, and he looks so much calmer than Jeff feels. “Kaylin, uhm, she is,” Jeff starts, then stats over. “That was her.” Jeff shoves his hands deep in his pockets, turns his eyes to the floor. “She wanted to see you, I guess?”

“Okay,” Mike says. Jeff hates, just a little bit, how unconcerned he sounds.

“Oh,” Jeff says, glancing up at Mike. “Alright, then.” He tries to make himself sound cool, as cool as Mike.

It doesn’t work, or maybe it just doesn’t work with Mike, because Mike walks over to him and puts his hand on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff automatically turns to check the door, even though he logically knows he would have heard it if Kaylin had climbed the stairs to follow him here. Mike notices that too, and he lets his arm fall to his side.

“It’s just. She doesn’t – she doesn’t know,” Jeff hurries to say.

Mike nods but Jeff doesn’t think he doesn’t understand.

“She doesn’t knows about this, and I’ve never dated anyone seriously enough to tell her anything,” Jeff explains. His voice sounds desperate, even to himself, but he really needs for Mike to understand.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike says.

“So you can’t, you can’t tell her – ”

“I said okay, Carts, Jesus,” Mike cuts him off. It doesn’t sit right with Jeff, the way he says it, the way he calls Jeff _Carts_ after so many days of sticking to his name. Jeff opens his mouth to explain himself better, because this is not about Mike, but something passes over Mike’s face, too quick and too sharp for Jeff to start taking apart, but the meaning behind it is clear.

Jeff steps aside, Mike walks out.

Jeff watches the empty hallway until the sound of Mike’s soft footfalls dies out, and then sinks down on the bed. Jeff should head downstairs, oversee whatever interaction Kaylin and Mike are about to have, but he’s never needed to referee Kaylin and Mike like that. And if there’s one thing Jeff can count on, despite all else, it’s his trust in Mike. He knows Mike wouldn’t purposefully say or do something that might make Kaylin suspicious.

So Jeff breathes for a few minutes, tells himself that he and Kaylin have been divorced for more than a year now, had been drifting apart from each other for even longer than that. Kaylin has dated seriously since, and it didn’t work out, but none of that means that Jeff can’t date, can’t have another person like that in his life anymore. Except Jeff doesn’t know how Kaylin would feel about that person being Mike, not that is should matter. But it does. To Jeff.

When he can’t keep putting it off anymore, Jeff gets up. He doesn’t want to think about how his lips still feel tingly, so he doesn’t, just scrubs a hand over his face. He makes sure to grab the kids’ things from their room before heading back down, just so he won’t have to do it later.

In the kitchen, Mike and Kaylin are bent over the counter laughing. That’s how Jeff finds them, and neither of them so much as blinks at him when he comes in. “What’s so funny?” Jeff asks, half curious and half afraid to know. Kaylin and Mike always got off the best making fun of him. Much like Mike and his kids come to think of it.

“I was just telling her how betrayed you were that I told Chris and Dylan the story of how you stole Arnold,” Mike explains.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “For the last time, that never happened,” he says, surprising himself with how relaxed he sounds.

Predictably, they both ignore him and go ahead and laugh a little bit more about that before Mike asks Kaylin about her job. Kaylin lights up at the opportunity to talk about the current project she’s working on, which involves shopping carts somehow, Jeff is fairly certain. She’s talking really fast, same as she always does whenever she gets excited, and a few sentences into it, Jeff can see Mike blinking rapidly at her, then squinting, the same way he does when he’s not really able to pay attention anymore. Jeff can see when Kaylin catches on, when it clicks in her head, and then she slows down, sticks to the summarized version instead of showering Mike with details.

“Yeah, ads on shopping carts sounds great,” Mike says in the end, cautious.

Kaylin laughs and Mike’s shoulders relax, like he was worried about getting it right. Jeff feels that familiar, fragile warmth spreading through him at the realization, even though he knows this is not about himself. It’s not the right time for that though, and Jeff remembers the look Mike shot him upstairs, so he shakes his head and walks to the fridge for a bottle of water.

“So, how is Maggie?” Kaylin chooses that moment to ask, and Jeff almost knocks his head into one of the shelves in his haste to turn around. “Is she alright with you spending so much time here?” Kaylin goes on, and it’s not like Jeff can wave her off without tipping Mike off as well, so he settles for bracing himself for how this is going to play out.

But Mike just ducks his head and laughs it off. “Well, we’re not together anymore, so I don’t see why she’d have a problem with it,” he says lightly. It’s a selfish thought to have, but Jeff feels like an asshole for expecting the worst.

Kaylin is visibly surprised by that, much like Jeff himself was when he found out. She shoots Jeff a pointed look, which Jeff figures is appropriate; he should probably have given her a heads up. “I’m sorry, I guess?” she says to Mike.

“Eh, it’s okay.” Mike shrugs. “Things just weren’t working out,” he says, saving all three of them from Kaylin’s next question.

Kaylin nods. Jeff can see her deliberating where to go next. “Are you, like, are you seeing anyone right now?” she asks.

Jeff feels his stomach tighten, his palms sweat, and has to remind himself he trusts Mike.

Mike chuckles at her question. “Nah, not really,” he says.

Bitterness settles heavily into the pit of Jeff’s stomach, which is so stupid. It’s stupid and illogical because Jeff asked Mike to give this exact answer just a few minutes ago. Jeff knows this, but what he doesn’t know is whether or not Mike’s answer would be different in the least if Jeff hadn’t talked to him. Jeff isn’t even sure if he’d like it to be.

“I mean, the season is kinda hectic. Doesn’t leave much time for relationships. You know how it is,” Mike goes on. “And I’m not really up for that yet.”

Mike is not an especially good liar is the thing, never has been, and Jeff doesn’t think that changed over Mike’s time in Columbus. But he sounds so convincing now, so honest that Jeff doesn’t know what to do with it. He thought—stupidly, looking back on it, and definitely not consciously—that maybe this could be something they could do. And it was nothing more than a stupid, unconscious thought, a baseless one at that, but it still hurts Jeff to hear it get tarnished like that.

“Well, it’s okay to take some time,” Kaylin says.

Mike nods, brings his hand up to rub the back of his neck. The movement pulls his sweatshirt away from the side of his neck, and it’s not much but it’s enough for a purplish bruise to peek through. Jeff’s eyes catch on it, and he chokes on nothing. When he glances at Kaylin, she’s looking at Mike’s neck too, eyes intense and inquiring.

Kaylin knows hockey bruises, and she was with Jeff for nine years; she knows Jeff, too. She looks away from Mike and at Jeff, at his mouth, and Jeff puts a hand over it like that’s going to salvage this. She looks back at Mike, then at Jeff, then back at Mike, her eyes jumping between them until she finally blinks and sits back on her chair.

“Uhm,” Mike starts, awkward. He turns to Jeff, and Jeff catches some of the guilt and the panicked edge in his eyes and has to look away.

Kaylin’s eyes, in contrast to Mike’s, are hard. She opens her mouth, and Jeff doesn’t even want to hear what she has to say on this, so he cuts her off before she can say anything. “Hey, aren’t you cutting it a little close?” he asks, but they both know it’s not really a question. “Come on, I’ll help with the kids’ bags.”

Kaylin purses her lips, but after a few more torturous seconds she gets up. “It was great seeing you, Mike,” she says, and she doesn’t sound as welcoming as two minutes ago, but she’s not snarling at him, so Jeff will take it.

“Yeah, uhm, you too,” Mike says. He almost looks at Jeff, but turns away at the last second.

Jeff follows Kaylin out to the garage, and has to give her credit for waiting until they’re alone to confront him. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to stare him down, which should look ridiculous, Jeff thinks, given her height, only it doesn’t. It actually looks pretty terrifying, and it makes Jeff feel nauseous, reminding him of all the fights they had, all of them balled together in one.

Jeff swallows. “Just say what you have to say,” he says.

Kaylin huffs. “Are you serious right now?” She tries to keep her voice down, but it still echoes in the large space. “You brought him here to _fuck_ him?” she spits out, harsh enough to make Jeff wince.

“It’s not like that,” Jeff says, but she just talks over him.

“While you had the kids staying with you? Did you at least make sure you didn’t get caught?” she says, each word laced with anger that Jeff can’t quite understand.

“No,” Jeff says quickly. “No, of course not. We didn’t – you know I’d never –”

“Really?” she cuts him off, and its so clearly mocking that Jeff just sees red.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jeff says, “Where do you get off making judgments about who I sleep with?”

“Oh, I don’t know, did you fuck him while we were married?” she asks, and it’s full on yelling now.

Jeff takes a step back. “What the fuck, Kaylin,” he says.

“Well, did you?” she goes on. Her voice shakes, just a little, and Jeff can see how she’s afraid too, not just mad.

“How the well did we get there?” Jeff hisses, not actually expecting an answer.

Kaylin is quiet for a moment, too quiet, before she says, “I guess if you’re not answering.”

Jeff can’t help but roll his eyes at that, just so he won’t have to look at her. Won’t have to acknowledge how her saying that hurts because it’s been long enough that it shouldn’t. It’s been long enough that Jeff had forgotten exactly how much it hurt. “It was nothing, okay? Nothing,” he says, “It won’t happen again.” He turns around to walk away then, because, if anything, he’s mastered that part of their arguments.

Kaylin calls after him, once, and while they were together, while they were trying during those last couple of years, Jeff would have turned around, tried to talk it out. But they’re not together now, and they’re not trying, and Jeff just keeps walking.

Mike is not in the kitchen when Jeff gets back inside, and he’s not in the living room either. He’s not anywhere that Jeff can see him, which is for the best with how tightly strung Jeff feels right now, how tacky his skin feels. He heads upstairs, and doesn’t bother checking the guestroom before going to shower.

 

 

 

In the bathroom, Jeff locks the door behind him. He looks at himself in the mirror, and the skin around his mouth looks red, or more red than it would if he were kissing a woman, and raw, when he brushes his fingers over it. It’s a small thing to notice, maybe, but it’s also extremely difficult to miss, something you’d have to try to overlook, and Jeff doesn’t think he can, even though it would probably make things easier between him and Mike, and between him and Kaylin, and between him… and himself really.

It’d make things easier to overlook it, but Jeff can’t look away from it.

 

 

 

It takes Jeff practically the rest of the day to convince himself to leave his room, and even then he’s not happy to do it. He’s embarrassed to admit that, just for a second, he actually contemplates going back in there when he finds Mike standing in front of the stove, two pots boiling in front of him. But that would be immature, and petty, so Jeff just clears his throat to get Mike’s attention and says, “Hey.”

Mike jumps, almost drops his wooden spoon, but he gives Jeff a tiny smile when he turns around and sees that it’s him.

“What are you making?” Jeff asks, struggling through the sudden awkwardness between them.

“Uhm, pasta?” Mike says, “I don’t know, you had a lot of fancy shit and this is the only thing I know how to make out of that.”

Jeff chuckles. “That’s cool,” he says, shoving down all the other things he wants to say because this doesn’t feel like the right time for that.

“It’s just going to be a few more minutes,” Mike says. Then, “I, uhm, I actually wanted to – I wanted to apologize. For before. With Kaylin. I mean, I didn’t do that on purpose, I hadn’t even noticed it until I took a shower later.” He’s go this back turned to Jeff, but Jeff can hear how nervous his, can see it in the tense line of his shoulders.

Jeff knows it wasn’t on purpose. A part of him kind of wanted to be, but that was – a part. “I know. It’s okay,” he says, because he doesn’t want Mike to have to carry his and Kaylin’s problems.

Mike lets out a breath. He turns off the stove and turns to face Jeff.

“We talked, she got the wrong idea,” Jeff explains, though talking is not what he’d call that.

“The wrong idea,” Mike repeats. His voice is very even, very careful. “What idea would that be?”

Jeff shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not – it doesn’t matter. It’s not like this is – a thing,” he says.

“A thing,” Mike repeats, again.

Jeff is really getting tired of him doing that. “I mean, that’s what you told her, right?” he points out, sharper than he’d meant.

“Wow.” Mike starts shaking his head. “Your head is so far up your ass right now,” he says, and he’s smiling, like he almost finds this funny.

“What are you talking about?” Jeff asks, honestly lost.

Mike laughs, but it’s dry. “I don’t even know what I was expecting. I don’t even know what I was _thinking_ ,” he says, angry, though Jeff doesn’t know who it’s directed at. His lips curl bitterly around the words, and Jeff hates how morally superior Mike sounds, how vividly his tone reminds Jeff of Kaylin.

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” Jeff snaps, louder than he’s dared to be with Mike since the concussion. Mike blinks, and his hand twitches. Jeff goes on. “You are single and I am single and I just thought – you said it yourself, you don’t want a relationship. Not with a guy anyways,” he adds that last part as an afterthought.

Jeff didn’t feel bad about raising his voice, but he feels bad about the look that crosses over Mike’s eyes as he says that. It’s a crossover between shocked and betrayed, and it makes Mike’s face go pale, his lips part. His hand starts shaking around the spoon he’s still holding and he turns around to throw it on the counter.

Jeff can see the line of his shoulders rising, then lowering, slow and tense, like he’s trying to control his breathing. Jeff starts counting the seconds where they’re quiet. He gets to eleven before Mike turns around.

“That doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole about this,” he says. His voice is completely monotone but it still makes Jeff flinch, then try to hide it. “You really need to figure your shit out, Jeff.”

“Richie,” Jeff makes himself say. Mike gives him a look, expectant, but Jeff doesn’t have anything to say after that.

Mike sighs, shaking his head, disappointed and not doing much to hide it. Mike hasn’t been Jeff’s captain for years, for a decade, but Jeff can still feel the weight of that sometimes. This is one of those times, even though the context doesn’t match.

“I’m going upstairs,” Mike says, and it’s pretty clear: Jeff is not welcome. Maybe Jeff should point out that this is his house, but whatever, it’s big enough that if the two of them don’t want to see each other, they won’t.

 

 

 

Jeff wakes up before Mike the next morning, or so he thinks for about two minutes until Mike joins him in the kitchen, fully dressed and carrying his suitcase, which Jeff supposes is full. He feels his stomach sink, because Mike’s flight wasn’t supposed to be until Thursday, and, sure, two more days isn’t a whole lot, but Jeff knows why Mike’s choosing to leave now.

“Good morning,” Mike says, taking a seat at the breakfast counter. He looks like he’s been ready for a while. Jeff wonders if Mike was just lurking with his ear stuck to his bedroom door, waiting to hear when Jeff would be up. It’s freaky how easy it is for Jeff to imagine it.

Mike affords Jeff the courtesy of taking two sips of coffee before saying, “My flight is in four hours.”

Jeff swallows his third sip of coffee and nods. He figured, from the bag and all, but it feels different to hear it, definitely worse than Jeff expected. Jeff tries to think of what the right thing is to say to that, and comes up empty. 

“I think it’s for the best,” Mike explains when Jeff doesn’t say anything. Jeff doesn’t really know why Mike bothers with explanations. He sounds pretty determined; Jeff sincerely doubts he could change Mike’s mind. “Like, for both of us.”

Jeff nods. His head hurts. “Do you want me to drive you?” he asks, half hoping Mike will say no because he is kind enough to spare them both that car drive, and half hoping he’ll say no because he decides to stay.

Mike grinds his jaw and fails at looking cool. “No, it’s fine,” he says, “I already called a cab.”

“Okay,” Jeff nods. “Uhm, you want some breakfast then?” he asks. Jeff himself is not very hungry, but he still doesn't think Mike should have an empty stomach while swallowing all that ibuprofen.

Mike’s eyes turn sad, and Jeff doesn’t know whom it’s for. He looks away; he isn’t sure he _wants_ to know. “Carts. Jeff,” Mike starts, and yeah, they’re probably sad for Jeff. “I’m leaving,” he says, like Jeff missed it the first time or something. Jeff didn’t miss it.

“Yeah, but you said, like, four hours. You’ve got time.” Jeff shrugs, because if he can convince Mike to stay for a little longer maybe he could—what, change his mind?

Mike sighs, so that’s very obviously not happening. “I’ll just get something from the airport.”

Mike won’t, because he hates plastic airport food—Jeff’s heard him complain about it enough times—but Jeff doesn’t call him out on it. “Okay,” he says. It feels like that’s the best word he’s got for all this.

Mike sighs again and starts getting up.

Jeff doesn’t even let himself think about it before reaching out to grab his hand. Mike flinches and pulls his hand back like he’s been burnt, like he really, really doesn’t want Jeff touching him right now. They both just stand there for one, two, ten seconds too long, looking at the space between them, before Mike says, “Jeff,”

Jeff winces at how weak it sounds, like all the anger from yesterday has seeped out of Mike only to be replaced by fucking resignation, or disappointment, or sadness or some shit. “Mike, you don’t have to,” Jeff says, “I don't… I don’t want you to.” He makes himself admit, and it’s – it’s sort of true, but sort of is sort of enough for Jeff.

Mike’s eyes close and he takes a deliberate step away from Jeff and towards the door. “Jeff, just don’t, okay?” he says, and Jeff wants to shout _don’t what?_ He doesn’t really have to. “Don’t jerk me around,” Mike says. It sounds – Jesus, it sounds like he’s begging Jeff.

Jeff opens his mouth—he doesn’t really know why really, so he closes it. He puts his hand back on his lap from where it’s been hovering between and tries again.

“Please,” Mike says. He’s not looking at Jeff, but his voice is rough, and more unsteady than either of them would like to admit.

Jeff thinks about apologizing, then thinks better of it; Mike wouldn’t want to hear that. Jeff would give anything to know what Mike does want to hear so he could say that. “Okay,” he says again, because, apparently, that’s all he’s going to contribute to this conversation.

Mike takes a very slow, shaky breath. “Okay.” He nods. When he looks up, he’s smiling. Kinda. It mostly looks like he wants to cry and laugh and punch Jeff in the face at the same time.

Jeff doesn’t even know where to start.

“I’m gonna go,” Mike says.

Jeff nods. He grips the counter so he doesn’t do something stupid, incredibly stupid, like reach out. He keeps gripping the counter while Mike picks up his bag and starts walking towards the door, and while the door closes behind him. He tightens his fingers a little when he hears a horn a couple of minutes later, and doesn't let go until he hears a car driving off. Then he pushes his coffee away and rests his forehead against the granite countertop. “Fuck,” he says, knocks his head against it. Just once.

 

 

 

For three days, Jeff doesn’t call him. He picks up the phone, even goes as far as to pull up Mike’s contact a few times, but in the end he always changes his mind, goes to busy himself with something else. Because, the thing is, Jeff was wrong.

He thought that this could be fun, something for the both of them to enjoy while they could. He hadn’t really thought past that—he didn’t _want_ to think past that. The last person he did that with he ended up divorced to. And it wasn’t an ugly divorce; there was no yelling and screaming, no dramatic fights over money or alimony or who gets to live where. It was, well, amicable, and both Kaylin and Jeff agreed it was better than the alternative. But it was still sad. And Jeff doesn’t want that with Mike.

Though, he supposes, Mike left and Jeff is too scared to call him. Even if Jeff wasn’t, he doesn’t know what he’d say, he doesn’t know if Mike would bother picking up. This really isn’t that much different from a divorce.

 

 

 

Jeff almost shuts the door in Kaylin’s face when she tries to apologize. “I really don’t wanna hear it, Kaylin,” he says, crosses his arms over his chest.

Kaylin’s lips turn down into a frown. “I’m really sorry, Jeff,” she says anyway. “I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t have handled it like that.”

Jeff nods, though he’s not really listening.

“Is Mike here? I wanted to apologize to him too,” Kaylin says.

“No,” Jeff says, “No, he left on Tuesday.”

“Oh.” Kaylin licks her lips, awkward. She sighs. “Jeff, I’m really—”

“He wasn’t staying long anyways,” Jeff cuts her off, because he can’t stand Kaylin feeling sorry for him too.

Kaylin clicks her jaw shut. She nods. “Okay,” she says, “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“For sure,” Jeff says.

Kaylin takes a deep breath, like she’s preparing to say something. She seems to think better of it and says instead, “Have fun.”

 

 

 

Jeff’s idea of fun is Tyler taking Dylan and Chris skating and then the four of them going out to eat after. Honestly, it’s decent fun, and by the time they get home, the kids are pretty wiped out, enough so that they basically fall asleep on the couch after insisting that they were awake enough for a movie. Jeff makes sure they’re comfortable and turns off the TV before leading Tyler to the kitchen so the two of them don’t wake them up.

“They’re so cute when they’re tired,” Tyler says, dreamy eyes and everything.

Jeff chuckles and takes a seat across from him on the table. He asks Tyler about the team since he didn’t get the chance to earlier, and then about Anne, and listens as Tyler illustriously tells him the story of how one of his dogs got a stomach bug. Jeff follows along and nods, even though it sounds disgusting.  

Tyler asks Jeff what he’s been up to after, and Jeff’s mind goes blank. He already mentioned Mike’s visit earlier, just left out all the details, but Jeff thinks, if he was to ask anyone, Tyler is a pretty safe bet. He’s laid back, and he’s been in the league long enough to know. He’s also not very big on gossip, unlike some—coughmostcough—of the people Jeff knows. 

“Do you know,” Jeff starts, on impulse really, but he can’t finish his sentence. He checks to make sure they are still alone, the kids safely asleep on the couch. “Do you know any guys, in the NHL, who are…” he trails off, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how to ask this sort of question without making a big deal out of it, because he doesn’t play hockey anymore but Tyler does, and this sort of thing is a Big Deal in hockey.

Tyler makes an inquiring noise, kicks Jeff under the table.

Jeff takes a breath, keeps his eyes on the window behind Tyler’s head. “Who are not, you know, into women,” he finally says, probably too quiet and definitely more awkward than he’d like to admit.

Tyler turns a very judgmental eyebrow his way. “There’s a word for that, you know. It’s – ” he cuts himself off to looks around them and then says, “G-a-y.”

Jeff rolls his eyes even though his heart is beating too hard in his chest. He has to squash down the urge to look around too. “A five year old can spell that,” he says. A five year old probably knows what “gay” is too, so there’s no real need for this.

“Well then, h-o-m-m-o-s—”

“Oh, fuck off.” Jeff kicks Tyler back, though he’s gentler about it because he doesn’t want to accidentally injure him or anything. “Also, homosexual is spelled with one m.”

“Really?” Tyler frowns, starts mouthing the word to himself.

Jeff clucks his tongue. “Who let you graduate high school?” he asks.

“Hey!” Tyler says and Jeff doesn’t want to admit it, but he feels a little lighter than he did just a few seconds ago. Light enough to push. “So, do you?”

Tyler shrugs. “I know about Mike, and a few others. I guess. I mean, it’s just rumors, the same ones you’ve heard probably,” he says. Then, “Why’re you asking?”

Jeff feels himself go stiff, his limbs grow heavy again. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Just thinking,” he says.

Tyler hums like he’s not quite buying that, but he doesn’t say anything, so he’s most likely willing to let Jeff pretend. “It’s all cool,” he just says. He’s careful with his words, and his tone, and it makes Jeff feel even more wound up.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, because he can’t say nothing and Tyler sounds like he’s expecting his input. “Yeah, for sure.”

Tyler turns towards him then, squints at Jeff’s face very deliberately. Jeff can feel himself squirm, and his fingers curl around the edge of the table, ready to push off and leave if it comes down to that. Then, out of nowhere, Tyler blinks, an expression that somehow spreads across his whole face, and says, “Wow.”

Jeff winces.

“Are you serious right now?” Tyler asks, and at least Jeff appreciates how quiet he’s being. “Are you having a, like, a gay identity crisis?” He’s obviously surprised is the thing, but Jeff can’t figure out what else is there, if Tyler’s mad too, or annoyed, or disgusted, or just all those words that Jeff’s trying not to think.

Jeff can feel panic rising up his throat like bile, and he pushes it down. He can’t even remember why he thought bringing this up now, here, with Tyler, would be a good idea. His fingers slip, sweaty, on the table, and Tyler hasn’t looked away, hasn’t so much as blinked. Jeff’s mouth opens and closes a few times with nothing coming out before he gets it together enough to shrug, to say, “Thirty five is too old for that.” He’s actually kind of proud of how cool he manages to sound, like his heart’s not threatening to crush open his ribcage.

Tyler’s expression doesn’t change as he leans back on his chair. “Hm, I don’t know,” he says, slowly, with an edge to his voice that Jeff can’t quite place. “Maybe not. Probably not.”

Jeff presses his lips together, hard, focuses his eyes on the table between them.

“Maybe you just need to have sex though,” Tyler suggests. He looks thoughtful but there’s still something there that Jeff can’t wraps his head around. “When was the last time you had sex?”

Jeff doesn’t let himself think about it, because he knows, if he does, he’ll just end up making some sort of excuse. And that excuse is going to pile on all the other excuses he’s already made, and he’s tired of feeling the weight of them on his chest every time he breathes. “Last week,” he says, and hopes, for the first time, that Tyler can read through the lines.

Tyler is perceptive though, and maybe that’s something he doesn’t get enough credit for. He narrows his eyes at Jeff. “Wasn’t Rick here last week? When did you find the time?”

Jeff lets got of the table, tries to make his shoulders relax enough so he can shrug.

Tyler’s eyes widen, thought it’s not as dramatic as before. “Holy shit,” he lets out. His lips twitch. “Holy shit. Mike Richards is your gay awakening?” he asks, which –

What the fuck.

Jeff can only stare for what he’s fairly certain is a full minute. Honestly, he’s heard a lot of shit – _a lot_ of shit – come out of Tyler’s mouth, some more intelligent than others, some a lot more fucking ridiculous than others, but this – this. Jeff doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to recover from this. “Don’t ever, _ever_ , use that sentence again,” he finally manages to say. His voice is strangled and he thinks he can feel the vein in his forehead pulse in time with his heartbeat.

Tyler is, unfortunately for Jeff’s mental health, stability, tranquility – whatever – undeterred. “He is though, isn’t he?”

“No, it’s not – what even is a, a gay awakening?” Jeff splutters, because if Tyler’s gonna psychoanalyze him here, they might as well be clear on the terms.

Tyler ignores him. “He’s kinda haggard looking, I suppose, but yeah, I could see that,” he says, “Though, I mean, if I were to guess, Id’ have pegged you as more of a twinky type, but – ”

“What are you – what are you on about?” Jeff asks, only a little manic. At this point, he’s sure Tyler is messing with him – he’s actually hoping Tyler is messing with him.

“You know, like, Beau Bennett-type dudes. California boys,” Tyler explains. “Oh, oh, or like Noah Hanifin.” He nods a few times, very clearly impressed by Noah Hanifin’s sex appeal and very clearly urging Jeff to jump on the Noah Hanifin appreciation train.

Jeff manages to get it together enough to point out the obvious in this situation. “Ew, there’s, like, fifteen years between us.”

Tyler shrugs, conceding to Jeff’s point. “Aaron Ekblad though, that dude is _nice_ ,” he says appreciatively. Jeff and his gay awakening are not even the gayest things in this conversation.

“That’s maybe thirteen years. That’s not much better,” Jeff objects.

“Oh, I got it,” Tyler goes on. There’s a twinkle in his eye, a twinkle that Jeff is all too suspicious of. “Roman Josi,” he says, in a tone that implies, in no vague terms, that Jeff is to wholeheartedly agree with him.

Jeff isn’t actually sure if he’s attracted to Roman Josi – he’s not sure if he’s attracted to any guy except Mike, which is scary to think about – but he’s got _eyes_. He grumbles something affirmative and looks away, because Tyler’s managed to distract him, which Jeff isn’t sure was intentional on Tyler’s part, but the size of Jeff’s admission hasn’t really escaped him. He’s sure it hasn’t escaped Tyler either, for all that Tyler’s tried to play it off.

“So,” Tyler starts after a couple of minutes, serious now, so the sidetracking was most likely intentional. “You’re – you’re serious.”

Jeff shrugs. He still doesn’t look at Tyler.

“Are you and he,” Tyler cuts himself off, but it’s not like Jeff needs him to go on to know what he’s talking about.

“No.” Jeff shakes his head. “He, uh, he left. We – it didn’t work out. It wasn’t like that,” he says, and all he can see is Mike leaving, Mike begging Jeff to not jerk him around.

“Okay,” Tyler says, drawing it out. It sounds like a question. “I don’t really understand. I mean, is that something you want?” He’s careful, same as when Jeff brought this up, and Jeff appreciates it, but he hates it a little bit too. Because he knows, if Tyler were more abrupt, more honest, Jeff would have run for the hills by now.

“It’s not like that, I told you,” Jeff says, not angry, just. Just lying at this point. Because Jeff remembers Mike saying “We don’t talk about it”, and he remembers him saying “after hockey”. But he also remembers Mike kissing him back, and flirting with him, Mike smiling up at him. Jeff remembers Mike breathing against his lips, and he remembers Mike telling him, “Your head is so far up your ass”, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it could be like that, for Mike, and Jeff, well, he went and screwed all that up, didn’t he?

Tyler sighs. “If you want it though – ” he starts, and Jeff finally makes himself look up, only for a second, because Tyler is giving him a look, too gentle and too understanding and it’s too much.

“Anyway,” Jeff cuts him off. He sits up, leans against the back of the chair more comfortably. He changes the subject, guides the conversation back to hockey, to the Kings.

Tyler purses his lips, disappointed and clearly onto Jeff. “Jeff,” he says.

Jeff swallows, looks at Tyler intently enough for him to get the message.

Tyler does, with a heavy sigh and a frown, but he goes on to tell Jeff about their powerplay’s abysmal numbers.

 

 

 

On Monday, Kaylin comes by to pick up the kids’ things. “Hey, mind if I come inside for a few minutes?” she asks, after Jeff’s helped her carry the bags to her car. “We need to coordinate Christmas gifts and stuff,” she explains when Jeff doesn’t answer right away.

It’s three weeks from Christmas, and they’re cutting it pretty close, so Jeff shrugs, and she follows him inside.

Sitting with her is awkward in a way that it hasn’t for almost a year, and that part sucks, because Jeff had honestly though they’d gotten over that. The whole ordeal takes less than ten minutes though, with Jeff agreeing to pick up the hockey stick and skates for Dylan, because the last time Kaylin had done that she’d gotten the wrong size.

“I was thinking of a goldfish or something for Chris,” Jeff suggests then.

Kaylin’s eyes widen in surprise, and she nods a few times. “Wow,” she says, “That’s actually really great.”

Jeff knows she doesn’t mean anything by it, not anything bad at least, but it still makes him defensive, the same way what she said the other day in the garage made him defensive. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, sharp.

Kaylin stops smiling, hurries to say, “Nothing, nothing. I just meant, he’s really gonna love that.”

It gives Jeff pause, because she honestly sounds happy about it, and makes him regret questioning her in the first place. “Right,” he says. Then, because he knows he should, “Sorry.”

Kaylin is quick to brush it off. “You’re gonna go get it before we leave, or…”

“You’re gonna be in Connecticut, so I figured that I could take Chris to pick it out from the store after you guys get back,” Jeff says. That would definitely be more practical than carrying a fish to and back from Connecticut and Kaylin’s parents. “Does that work?”

Kaylin nods. “Yeah, that’s great. Thanks for agreeing to that, by the way. I know it’s pretty far, especially for a holiday,” she says.

“It’s only fair,” Jeff says. He had them for the majority of summer, excluding the month of summer camp, and for last year’s Christmas, too.

“Still,” Kaylin continues. “Thank you.” She squeezes his shoulder once.

“Maybe this will finally make your dad like me,” Jeff says, trying to play it off.

Kaylin laughs. “Nah, he still thinks you’re an uncultured bully on skates, don’t worry,” she says.

Honestly, Kaylin’s dad didn’t like Jeff even while they were married; Jeff didn’t expect that to change any time soon.

They spend the next several minutes trying to figure out a schedule so Jeff will get some time with the kids during winter break as well, but after that they’re silent, and it’s awkward, just another thing for Jeff to despise, until she says, “You don’t look too great.”

Jeff lets out a surprised chuckle. He didn’t sleep too well last night and he rubs a hand over his face to wake himself up.

“I really am sorry about the other day, Jeff,” Kaylin says, serious now. Jeff swallows. It’s easier to hear Kaylin talk about what happened now, after a few days have already passed. “I had no business asking you that.”

Jeff shrugs. “No, I… I get it,” he says, even though no, Kaylin had no business asking him that. “It wasn’t – it wasn’t like that. When we were married it wasn’t like that.” Jeff doesn’t really want to think about what could have been if he’d felt like this for Mike from the beginning. That feels like he would be invalidating his and Kaylin’s relationship, and he and Kaylin might not be together anymore, but they both still got Chris and Dylan out of that.

Jeff wishes he didn’t, but he sees how Kaylin’s shoulders relax at hearing that. “So. It’s new?” she asks, tentative.

Jeff doesn’t want to have this conversation with Kaylin, Kaylin who is his very ex very wife. He thinks that would be weird – it’s honestly already weird. But before Kaylin was Jeff’s ex, she was his friend, and she was always there for him, always had something to say to make him feel better. So Jeff says, “Kinda,” while trying not to look at her.

Kaylin doesn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you wanna talk about it?” she asks. The tone of her voice, the way they’re sitting, how Jeff feels, it all brings with it a sense of deja vu, back to Jeff’s retirement, to all the times they got eliminated from the playoffs, to Mike getting sent down, arrested, signing with another team.

“I don’t really know,” Jeff says, because this is a little similar, but also entirely different from all of those things. Thinking about it though, about the small measure of relief he felt at talking about this with Tyler, Jeff thinks he might want to. “I just. It’s Mike,” he says, because that’s really all it comes down to. All it’s ever come down to.

Kaylin purses her lips, taps her nails against the table. “So?” she asks, like it’s actually that simple and like she’s actually that dense.

“It’s – he’s a guy,” Jeff points out. And then, when she doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him expectably, Jeff looks away. He says, quieter this time, “He’s my friend.” He doesn’t want to admit how light it makes him feel to get that off his chest.

“Do you like him?” Kaylin asks. She sounds nervous, and, weirdly, it makes Jeff feel better.

Kaylin is not Tyler. Kaylin has seen Jeff at his worst. Jeff thinks about that and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” His voice shakes, which is fucking embarrassing, but Jeff takes solace in the fact that this conversation is never leaving this room.

“Does he like you?” Kaylin goes on.

Jeff snorts. “Not right now he doesn’t,” he jokes.

Kaylin doesn’t laugh. “Jeff.”

Jeff swallows, doesn’t say anything, and maybe that’s enough of an answer in itself.

Kaylin slowly reaches out and places her hand over Jeff’s on the table. “Just because we got a divorce doesn’t mean every relationship you’ll ever have will be like that,” she says.

Jeff – Jeff stares at her. He opens his mouth to – to say something, something about how he’s over their divorce, has been over it for a while now, except his voice won’t cooperate, stuck in his throat because what she’s trying to tell him feels uncomfortably real, uncomfortably close to what he’s feeling.

Jeff tears his hand away from under hers and gets up, almost knocking his chair over in his haste. He turns around to grab a bottle of water from the counter behind him, just so he’ll have an excuse to turn away from her. He can feel Kaylin’s eyes burning holes in the back of his skull, but it’s easier to collect himself like this.

“Don’t you have to pick the kids up soon?” he asks, once he thinks his voice will be steady enough. It’s not really.

Kaylin sighs but Jeff can hear her start to get up. “Get it, subtle way of kicking me out,” she says. She doesn’t sound angry or anything. “You gonna be okay?”

Jeff turns around and tries to smile at her. He’s sure he butchers it from the way Kaylin frowns. “Really, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” he says.

He can see Kaylin doesn’t feel comfortable leaving, but they both know she’s going to be late is she doesn’t leave soon. “Just call me if you need anything, okay?” she says, and Jeff nods, before she heads out the door.

Jeff waits until he hears her drive off before going to sink down on the couch. He buries his face in the pillows and then decides he should have stayed in the kitchen instead so he’d have a hard surface to knock his forehead against.

 

 

 

Jeff tries Mike’s phone that night, and doesn’t get an answer.

Later, he tries to sleep, and can’t. He rolls over on his other side. He thinks about what Tyler said, all his absurd suggestions of attractiveness. He thinks about what Kaylin said, how, even as they were fighting, she didn’t really seem all that upset with Mike being a guy.

Jeff rolls over again, and grabs his laptop from the nightstand, types in “gay porn” as you do in times of need. He clicks on the first result and fights down the impulse to get up and check the door because he’s not fifteen and he’s not living in his parents’ house anymore. His options, once the page loads, frankly, frighten him a little. Which is not to say that the first time he looked at straight porn online was all rainbows and unicorns, but he does not want any “Jizz Pigs”, thank you very much. Jeff doesn’t want any “Raw sperm holes” either, and he really doesn’t want “Internal Cumsumptions”, which, who even comes up with these things.

It’s at this point that Jeff decides to get the fuck out of the featured page and arrange these videos by views, because Jeff spent a long time looking for good porn online, and it might have been straight porn, but the principle is the same. The “principle” also seems to be a star character in a lot of these videos, mainly in the role of administering discipline, which weirds Jeff out a little.

The ones with a “coach” and a “student” weird Jeff out too, a lot, mostly because he can’t help thinking about Sutter and Stevens asking him if he’d like some help with his jock, and that is about the least sexy thing Jeff can think of. Jeff also steers clear of anything that includes “hung”, “dong”, “horse” and “10 inches” in the title, because that shit is fucking _terrifying_ , and it also reminds Jeff, vividly, of Jaromir Jagr, who is very good at hockey but not really what Jeff’s in the mood for right now.

After an hour of clicking and back-clicking and one particularly disturbing video where a dude just _shoves_ his dick right in – and, for the record, Jeff has never participated in that aspect of gay sex before, but he knows how anal sex works, and that’s really not it – Jeff almost gives up. He decides to click on one last video because the preview looks nice enough. When it starts and the opening lines don’t suck, and the plot is simple enough – something about two friends on vacation – Jeff doesn’t close the tab right away.

The two guys look about he same age, not too young, but one of them, the one with the darker hair and the beard, is shorter than the other, who has lighter hair, and that is so incredibly transparent Jeff refuses to so much as think about it beyond acknowledging it. They look good though, normal. They’re not overly ripped, or twinky, or covered in leather, or anything. Just two guys, talking, and then starting to make out, undressing each other as they stumble to the bedroom – which sounds to Jeff like a considerably more sensible place to have sex than a massage table – and Jeff has to swallow.

When the shorter guy pushes the other to the bed and lies on top of him, muscles shifting along his back and his shoulders and down his arms as he presses him there, Jeff can feel himself grow warmer. They go back to kissing, and Jeff finds himself staring at how they move together, how their bodies fit with each other. They’re not in a hurry to move past that, so when the first guy starts making his way down the taller guy’s chest, Jeff has to lick his lips. He has to shift under the covers once the first guy gets his mouth on the other guy’s cock, and he has to thrust his hips, almost instinctively, when the second guy tangles his fingers in the first guy’s hair.  

It’s really just downhill from there.

Ten minutes later, Jeff knows that his type is really not twinky California boys rather than rugged-looking Ontario boys with bears.

 

 

 

When he wakes up, the first thing Jeff thinks is that he should have taken a shower after jerking off because now his stomach is sticky. It’s not until the hot water is beating down against his back that he lets himself think about what he jerked off _to_ , and then he spends a good five minutes staring at his shampoo bottle in a blatant waste of water.

Jeff, intellectually, he knows that being gay, bi – whatever – is not that big of a deal. At least not now, not for him. Jeff lives in LA and doesn’t even play hockey anymore. He sincerely doubts there are even a whole lot of people who still remember his name.

But even if he this wasn’t the case, even if Jeff still played, he couldn’t say, not with a straight face, that he couldn’t be bisexual because he was a hockey player. That would be pretty hypocritical of him, especially considering how Mike is one of the toughest hockey players Jeff has met and he’s pretty enthusiastically into dick.

And Jeff knows all this, is the thing. He really does. Except it’s hard to figure out how to apply it to himself. Not because he’s special or anything like that, but because he’s never really tried to picture himself in this position.

Jeff takes a deep breath and almost chokes on steam. He shuts off the water and pushes his hair away his face.

In all the years Jeff has known him, Mike has either picked up girls in bars when out with the team, or found guys to take home in more discreet places. Or he dated women. All of these resulted in very loud activities that left Jeff buying headphones and banging on Mike’s door to _“please keep it down”_ because Mike likes to be loud.

But Mike and Jeff never really talked about Mike’s sexuality. And right about now, Jeff kinda wishes they had.

 

 

 

Jeff tries to tell himself, after the first phone call to Mike goes unanswered, that Mike’s just busy. It doesn’t really work. Two days and five more calls later, Jeff knows Mike’s avoiding him. Which he supposes he deserves – he knows he could have handled what happened between them better – but it still makes his stomach heavy with regret.

He tries texting after that, first asking Mike if he’s alright, then asking him to pick up his phone, and then just giving up on the questions because his texts go unanswered the same way his calls do. It makes the feeling in his gut sink in more. He thinks about sending an email, but Jeff is not the most eloquent person with words and he doubts an email with his feelings all over it would serve in his favor.

And it’s not as if Jeff even knows what to say, not really. He could start with _I’m sorry_ , but that’s pretty much all he’s got. And would Mike even want to hear what he had to say? Judging by the way he left, probably not. Jeff remembers how Mike’s voice had shook, how his words had come out too close to pleading. He remembers the look in Mike’s eyes too, like he couldn’t wait to leave. Jeff doesn’t know what to say to any of that. Except, of course, _I’m sorry_ , which, yeah, he probably wouldn’t want to hear that either if he were in Mike’s position.

The last weekend before winter break is a good distraction from all that. Jeff briefly considers a trip to Disneyland for Saturday, but then he realizes that would basically be him trying to dangle an overexcited six and nine year old in a pre Christmas crowd, and changes his mind. He quite likes his stroke-free medical history.

He opts for a visit to a Christmas Village instead, one with colorful plastic houses and candy canes sticking out of mountains of fake snow. Chris and Dylan start jumping all over the place as soon as the three of them get there, which tells Jeff that his decision to avoid Disneyland was a good one.

The first thing that catches their eye is the face paint counter, so Jeff takes them to get their faces painted, a snowman for Chris and a snowflake made of hockey sticks for Dylan. The girl doing the drawings laughs when Dylan tries to explain in to her, but the end result is still pretty close to reality. Jeff takes pictures of them with Santa after that, as well as a few pictures with Santa’s elves, whose uniforms, even he has to admit, are pretty cute.

After that they get some cotton candy, or, Dylan and Chris get some while Jeff cringes at the mess they’re making of their faces and their hands. When they walk back to the car, Jeff fishes out a pack of wet wipes to salvage whatever he can, though it’s not easy. “But, I’m not even dirty,” Chris complains, while Jeff tries to wipe up the sugar from the lower half of his face. “Really, sugar is white, you can’t see it.”

Jeff bites his cheek to keep from laughing. “Sorry, buddy, you can still see it on your face,” he says, which makes Chris sigh, way too long-suffering for a six year old, and stop fighting Jeff’s hands off his face.

Jeff takes them to watch a Disney movie afterwards, and tries not to cry at the end; Disney movies have gotten really hard-core over the years.

Both Chris and Dylan fall asleep in the car on the drive home, so it’s pleasantly quiet, though Jeff still has to talk them into sleepily brushing their teeth once they get home so he doesn’t feel too guilty about all the junk food they ate today.

It’s not even nine by the time Jeff’s put both of them in bed, but the day’s taken a toll on him too, and he goes to sleep earlier than usual. He’s setting his alarm on his phone for tomorrow morning when he thinks about shooting Mike a text, and he’s apparently exhausted enough to not even try and talk himself out of it.

_I almost cried at a Disney movie today_ , he sends.

He doesn’t get a response, but he wasn’t expecting to.

 

 

 

How Jeff decides to book a ticket to Columbus is an interesting process. Okay, maybe not so much interesting as heavily influenced by the Christmas Rom Coms that are playing non stop on TV where one person always ends up running to find their better half and apologize profusely. Granted, that is a fictionalized version of reality, but Mike still hasn’t bothered to so much as pick up the phone and tell Jeff to fuck off, so Jeff is willing to go to extremes. And flying to Ohio is extreme.

Once Jeff’s got his ticket booked, he calls Tyler to let him know he won’t make it to the dinner on Christmas Day that he and Anne invited him to. “I, uh, I’m sort of flying to Columbus,” he says when Tyler asks him why.

There is a pause on the other end of the line but before Jeff can panic that he’s said too much, Tyler says, “Want me to drive you to the airport?”

It’s better than leaving his car in the long-term parking lot or getting a cab, so Jeff says yes.

Tyler doesn’t actually say anything during the drive. He doesn’t even give Jeff any side-eyed looks, but Jeff can still feel his skin growing tighter the closer they get to the airport. He fidgets with the radio station because Tyler is not really particular about what he likes, and messes with his seatbelt, pulling it away from his chest and back again. It doesn’t do anything to calm his nerves.

“It won’t be weird, right?” he asks while they’re waiting for a light to turn green.

Tyler gives him a questioning look so Jeff explains. “That’s what you said. If something was happening between Richie and me, it would be cool.” He tries not to sound as nervous as he feels, even though he doubts Tyler hasn’t noticed how impatient he’s being today.

Tyler shrugs and turns down the radio. “It would be weird, but not bad weird or anything like that,” he says, like it’s not a big deal at all, like Jeff didn’t spend weeks trying to convince himself that what he was feeling wasn’t real. 

Jeff swallows. The car is warm from the heater so he rolls the window down to get some air. “I’m going to apologize,” he says, “That’s why I’m going there. I was kind of an asshole to him.” It makes him feel better, to finally admit it out loud without the mumbles half answers he gave to Kaylin.

“Good for you,” Tyler says. He sounds too proud for Jeff’s liking; Jeff stops to wonder when that happened. “Do you have a grand gesture planned?” he asks, and yeah, that’s more like the Tyler Jeff’s used to.

Jeff nods. “It’s called knock on his door and apologize.”

Tyler waves him off. “Your game is _so_ weak, seriously,” he says, disappointed father voice and everything. He probably practices it on the dogs whenever they carry dirt inside the house. “You gotta think a little bigger than that. How about one of those airplanes that draw letters in the sky?”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re right, how come I didn’t think of that? A plane to write Mike _I’m sorry_ in the sky,” he says, making it clear exactly how much he thinks of that idea.

“Okay, maybe that’s a little extravagant,” Tyler accedes, like Jeff should be happy for the compromise. “How about a puppy – actually, no. Does Mike have a dog now?”

“Mike has three cats now, one of which only has one eye and is named Gordie,” Jeff informs him.

Tyler gives him a wide-eyed look coupled with an impressed nod. “Hardcore,” he says. He continues to give Jeff increasingly sappy and extravagant suggestions to shoot down, but when they finally get to the airport, he tells Jeff, “Good luck.”

Jeff nods, because, well, he kinda needs it.

 

 

 

Mike looks surprised for about five seconds once he opens the door and sees Jeff standing there. Then he blinks and goes back to mildly angry and doing a bad job at hiding it. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there with the door half open and his body right in Jeff’s way, like he’s getting ready to body check him onto his porch.

“Hey,” Jeff says, awkward. It’s getting really cold in Columbus, colder than Jeff’s used to, and he shoves his hands deep into his pockets because he didn’t think ahead to bringing some gloves.

Mike’s eyes track his movements, and he snorts before rolling his eyes. “You know, I’d leave you out here,” he grumbles, “but you’d probably freeze to death. And you’ve got kids so.” He moves aside so Jeff can come inside and closes the door behind them.

Let it be said that Mike Richards is merciful, first and foremost.

Mike’s house is pleasantly warm after the chill outside, but Jeff keeps his coat on as he follows Mike to the kitchen, sitting down while Mike leans against the counter. Mike looks better than the last time Jeff saw him, and the house seems brighter.

“Why are you here?” Mike asks. The harshness makes Jeff even more anxious.

It takes him a few tries, but Jeff eventually gets out, “I came here to apologize.”

Mike shrugs. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest. “Could’ve done that over the phone.”

Jeff actually couldn’t have because Mike systematically ignored his calls, but Jeff thinks it wouldn't be in his best interest to point that out right now. He says instead, “I wasn’t thinking. And I didn’t take it seriously.”

Mike clenches his jaw. Jeff swallows. He makes his eyes focus on the cupboard next to Mike’s head. “And I should have,” he says.

Mike stays quiet, looking down at him; maybe Jeff should have stayed standing too.

“I just woke up one morning, and it hit me,” Jeff makes himself go on. “I know that’s not an excuse, but it just,” he cuts himself off and wonders how this can be so difficult, how every word coming out of his mouth can weigh so much that his teeth hurt. “It hit me.”

“What hit you?” Mike asks. He’s giving Jeff this look, three parts bored, one part angry, and Jeff has seen it before, but never been on the receiving end of it. It makes him uneasy.

Jeff opens his mouth, tries to explain it, how it felt, but the words get stuck in his throat. He chokes on them, just keeps staring at Mike and his bored eyes, which Jeff irrefutably deserves, but the words had sounded and felt so much easier in his head.

Mike gives him a few seconds that feel like hours before snorting again. “Whatever,” he says, straightening up. “I’m going to bed. Stay, or don’t, I don’t care.”

Jeff tries not to flinch at the words, and doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s too early in the afternoon for sleeping. He feels relieved when he’s on his own again and he can finally shag in his chair, let out a long breath. He doesn’t mind when Patches comes to investigate what’s happening, even keeps his leg still for Patches to rub himself into.

Jeff doesn’t know how to tell Mike what he wants, and he doesn’t know how to leave either—he _can’t_ leave. Jeff came here to give this a chance, even though he still isn’t completely sure what this is or what it can be, and he can’t expect Mike to trust him when Jeff doesn’t even trust himself.

Jeff gets up to carry his bag upstairs.

 

 

 

“You’re still here,” is the third thing Mike says to him the next morning, right after “there’s coffee in the pot” and “How are the kids?”, and it’s not said kindly. “I still don’t know why,” is the fourth.

Jeff almost spits out his coffee, because obviously he knew they were going to continue last night’s discussion, but Mike had lured him into this false sense of security, and maybe for a second, Jeff had forgotten he was here awaiting his impeding sentence. “I told you last night. I wanted – ”

“Yeah, yeah, you wanted to clear your precious conscience,” Mike cuts him off, which isn’t what Jeff said last night. “But, see, I kissed you, when we were in Philadelphia, and you shook your head, and I didn’t even—I didn’t even mention it,” he says, voice growing louder with each word. “I _never_ mentioned it. And I _wanted_ to. I wanted to so much you have no idea, and now you pull this shit on me?”

Mike is visibly shaking by the end, and his face is twisted up, like it’s painful for him to admit all this, even though Jeff already knows about it. The memory is a little fuzzy maybe, not as clear as it could be, but Jeff remembers being drunk enough that he had to rely fully on the handrail to climb the stairs to his apartment, and he remembers how much his stomach had hurt from laughing. He remembers Mike opening his door because he hadn’t had as much to drink and Jeff’s hands were too uncoordinated to make the keys work. He remembers saying “We’re going to the Final, Richie, we’re going to the Final. Your team is going to the Final.”

Mike had smiled, a little shy, and then his face had abruptly turned serious and he’d licked his lips. He hadn’t even said anything before rising on his toes and kissing Jeff, and Jeff hadn’t said anything when he nudged him away and shook his head. Mike had smiled again, more sad this time rather than satisfied, and he’d helped Jeff out of his shoes and made him drink some water.

The next morning had been awkward until Jeff had asked, “So, you’re into that?”, meaning guys but not awake enough to say it, and Mike had shrugged and said, “Sometimes,” and that had been the end of that.

Jeff doesn’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t pushed Mike away, but Mike was his best friend, and it wasn’t just a kiss for him, Jeff doesn’t think. And that summer, Jeff ended up meeting Kaylin.

“So,” Mike says, “Why are you here?”

Jeff presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Mike just brought up what the both of them had been ignoring for eleven years now, and Jeff is pretty sure that it felt worse for him than it did for Jeff. “Because I want this,” he says, “For real.”

Mike huffs and rolls his eyes at the same time, like he’s trying to express how ridiculous he finds that to the best of his abilities. Jeff feels his heart beating in his throat, choking him up. “What are you talking about?” Mike asks. “How’s that even – that doesn’t even make sense.” He sounds like he wants to laugh at Jeff, but he’s also speaking very quickly.

Mike doesn’t even know how hard Jeff has wished that he were lying. “Not, it doesn’t. But I just came to Ohio to tell you,” Jeff says. His voice breaks and he hates himself a little for it.

Mike takes a sharp breath, says, “Jeff, I swear to god – ” He sounds even angrier, angry enough to make Jeff snap.

“You think I fucking asked for this?” he spits out, harsh enough to shut Mike up. “I’m supposed to be straight, Richie, like, into women, you know. God, I was married to Kaylin for seven years and I was happy – not for all of them, but enough. And then this happened,” he says, gesturing between them. “And it fucking hit me. So, sue me.”

Mike is quiet, staring at the table between them. His knuckles are white where he’s gripping a bottle of water and his arm is almost shaking. Jeff doesn’t know if it’s because Mike wants to punch him or – or reach out.

There’s a long pause between them, long enough to make Jeff’s palms start sweating, and then Mike says, “Fuck. I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me in one go.”

It makes the tension between them snap, and Jeff breathes out. “Look, I’m not asking you to like, elope with me or something. But you asked why I’m here, and that’s the reason.”

Mike swallows, pushes the plastic bottle away so he can cross his fingers on the table. When he looks up, his face is tight, like he’s steeling himself for something. “You know.” He takes a deep breath. “You know I’m in love with you, right?”

Jeff tries to breathe and almost chokes on nothing. He feels like this is _it_ , this is what they’ve been heading towards since Jeff invited him to Los Angeles.

“I’ve been in love with you for, god, fucking, an embarrassing number of years. I don’t want to – shit, I _can’t_ – be around when you change your mind, when you get over this – this phase,” he says, too quiet and too shifty, not the way Jeff’s used to seeing him.

Jeff shakes his head. He tries to put whatever confidence he’s got left in him into his voice. “I’m not gonna change my mind. This isn’t that for me.”

Mike sighs. He runs a hand through his hair and presses his fingers against his temple. “I need to, ugh, I need to take a walk, okay?” He stands up, and Jeff stands up with him almost on instinct. “I’ll be back, just.”

Jeff probably shouldn’t, not while Mike looks and technically is ready to bolt, but he reaches out and puts his hand on Mike’s shoulder anyway. Mike jolts, but he doesn’t move away.

“I just need to clear my head,” he says.

Jeff lets his hand drop and steps aside because he knows _he’s_ sure – or as sure as his been for anyone since Kaylin – but he understands why Mike doesn’t trust him enough to see it.

 

 

 

When Mike comes back, he looks determined. It takes Jeff a minute to parse it out because he’s used to seeing it matched with a helmet and a visor, and maybe followed by a goal or two. Or a scrum.

“See,” he starts, staying a careful few feet away from Jeff. “I know that you think you’re sure,” he raises a hand when Jeff opens his mouth to argue. “And, you know, you might be right. But _I’m_ not sure, and I need…” he trails off, so Jeff fills it in for him.

“Time,” he says. _To see if you’re for real_ , he doesn’t say, but they can both hear it hanging between them. “That’s fine.”

Mike looks surprised for half a second. “Jeff,” he says, deliberate.

Jeff likes the weight of Mike’s voice when he’s saying his name. “It’s really fine, Mike. I’m not gonna change my mind.” Mike still doesn’t look convinced, like Jeff’s maybe missing something, so Jeff changes the subject. “Now, you wanna help with lunch, or…” he points to the vague direction of the stairs and the living room, both giving Mike an out and in case his head hurts.

“I think I can handle lunch.”

 

 

 

Mike wakes Jeff up a little before eight the next morning to leave a set of keys on the dresser. “I’m heading to the practice rink, so I just wanted to leave these with you,” he says.

Jeff nods and mumbles out a thank you. He tries to go back to sleep after that but it’s not working, so after a few minutes he gives up and goes downstairs. Mike hasn’t left yet, but he’s in the middle of putting on his shoes. “You want me to drive you?” Jeff asks, still trying to blink his eyes open. 

Mike waves him off. “Wenny is coming by. He’s on IR, too,” he says.

When the doorbell rings a few minutes later, Mike is upstairs looking for his phone, so Jeff gets the door. His eyes catch on the piece of paper taped above the alarm, the word “stove” written on it. Maybe Mike needs to get a replacement part or something.

Wennberg looks surprised when he sees Jeff, but it quickly morphs into suspicion, and then discontent, because apparently Jeff doesn’t have a lot of fans on this team. “Hey,” Wennberg says, trying to peek around Jeff into the house. “Is Richie here?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Jeff says, stepping aside. “Yeah, he’s just upstairs.”

Wennberg makes a show or bumping into Jeff with his shoulder as he walks past him, and later, when Mike finally comes downstairs again, Wennberg makes another show of carefully putting his body between Jeff and Mike. “Everything okay, Richie?” he asks, slow, but he’s looking at Jeff.

Jeff is starting to get concerned.

Mike snorts from behind Wennberg’s back. “Yes, Wenny,” he says, “Stop giving him the death stare, come on.”

Wennberg holds Jeff’s gaze for another two seconds, and then turns to face Mike, smiling suddenly wide enough for his teeth to show. “You ready to go?”

Jeff can see Mike roll his eyes. “Yes,” he says, then turns to Jeff. “See you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jeff says. Mike gives his him a small smile that Jeff is incapable of not returning, but then Wennberg bumps into his shoulder again on his way out and that settles it. Jeff glares at his back. Wennberg turns around and pointedly picks up Jeff’s full coffee cup from the counter and starts carrying it outside. Jeff is too stunned to say anything, because seriously, what the fuck.

He hears the front door close and looks down when he feels something rubbing against his leg. Mike’s cats all look a little similar to Jeff, even though that’s kinda of a mean thing to say, but he knows this is Patches, because Patches is the only one who takes to human limbs as her own property.

“Why does Wennberg hate me?” Jeff asks, because no one’s around to witness this, and frankly, Patches might have better insight than he does at this point.

He doesn’t know why he’s surprised when Patches look up and mews at him before trotting over to his foodbowl. Jeff figures that’s fair—he’s hungry too—and he digs out the bag of cat food from the cupboard to pour Patches some food.

Mike is not a boastful person about his private life, not like he used to be when Jeff first met him – one too many PR mishaps drilled that out of him pretty efficiently – and he’s even more private when it comes to men. In fact, the first time Jeff saw Mike with a guy didn’t come until they lived together in LA, and even that, Jeff thinks, was an accident on Mike’s part, thinking Jeff was still out when walked through the door and started making out with the other guy against the wall. Jeff had not been out, Jeff had been crossing the hallway with a sandwich, on which he properly choked once he saw them.

Mike had looked incredibly embarrassed and the guy had been horrified, hightailing out of there thinking Jeff was Mike’s boyfriend. It was decidedly awkward, however not as awkward as the conversation Mike and Jeff had right after, which consisted mostly of uncomfortable weight shifting and heavy sighing until Jeff blurted out, “It’s your house. Just let me know next time.”

Mike had breathed out, his shoulders dropping in relief, which didn’t sit very well with Jeff. But Mike rarely talked about this as it was, and Jeff hadn’t wanted to further embarrass him, so he’d left Mike with a goodnight and a too long back pat.

So, Jeff, he doesn’t think Mike just _told_ people about them, or about what happened between them more accurately, since there’s no _them_ , not really, certainly wasn’t three weeks ago, but at the same time, he can’t help but think, _what if?_

Because Jeff was an asshole and he hurt Mike, and if he were in Mike’s position, he’d like someone to talk about this to. After all, Jeff told Kaylin what happened; it wouldn't be fair of him to expect Mike to just not say anything, all because Jeff’s got irrational fears rooted deep in his gut. And that’s what they are: irrational. Because who even cares if Jeff kissed him, or if he jerked Mike off, or if he liked it, which they couldn’t even know in the first place.

Jeff pours himself another cup coffee. He’s distracted enough that he burns his tongue on it and has to spit it out.

Jeff came here because he knew, and he still knows, that he really wants this with Mike. At the same time though, he’s more embarrassed about Mike’s teammates knowing that he kissed another guy rather than how big of an asshole he was, and even he and his burnt tongue, even vaguely, they know those priorities are a little messed up.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t feel any better—or any less guilty—by the time Mike gets back, but at least he hasn’t burnt any more body parts, although his tongue still feels a little fleshy. Mike’s wearing different clothes, and his hair is wet, but he looks tired, so Jeff tries to beat his face into something normal-looking, because Mike doesn’t need this drama right now.

He walks up to Jeff and puts the cup Wennberg stole from him this morning down on the table. It makes a clattering sound and Mike winces, but he arches his eyebrow at Jeff. “Did he steal your coffee this morning?”

“Uhm…” Jeff isn’t sure what the right answer would be. He doesn’t want to throw Mike’s teammate under the bus, solely for selfish purposes, so he settles on, “Maybe?”

Mike sighs but cracks a small smile. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “God, these people.” He looks at the cup and then back at Jeff, like he’s exasperated, but also a little fond. “It’s just… they’re kinda protective.”

Jeff has met Ryan Johansen, so he knows, and he’s met Mike Richards, so he _really_ knows. “I figured,” he says, which is an understatement. “I don’t think any of them particularly like me though.”

Mike laughs and sits down across from Jeff. “Yeah, well,” he says. Jeff waits, in case Mike wants to go on, but he doesn’t say anything else.

The silence between them feels strained, or awkward, but Jeff’s pretty sure he’s imagining that since Mike looks completely unconcerned. “Hey,” he starts, before he can talk himself out of it, even though, on second thought, it’d probably be better if he had. “Do they, uh, do they know?”

Mike frowns like he’s not quite following.

“About what happened. Between us,” Jeff explains.

Mike’s eyes flash with something, but it’s too quick for Jeff to parse out. “No,” Mike says. He uncaps the bottle of ibuprofen that was sitting on the table and takes out two tablets. “I haven’t told them.”

Jeff feels the tension in his stomach uncoil with relief, but he knows it’s wrong, definitely not what he came here for. He tries to squash it down, at least not let it show on his face, but judging by the way Mike’s lips turn into a thin, white line Jeff is probably not too successful. He thinks the worst part is how Mike doesn’t even look surprised.

Mike breathes out through his nose, pushes his chair back. “I’m tired,” he says, standing up. “I’m going to lie down.” He leaves like that, heads down the hall to the living room.

Jeff sits there for a few minutes, looking at the empty chair across from him, before finally gathering up the courage to follow Mike. 

The curtains on one of the windows in the living room are drawn back, just enough to let some light stream through, but the room is still dark enough that it takes a couple of seconds for Jeff’s eyes to adjust. He hovers just inside for a minute, looking at the back of Mike’s head, tipped back against the back of the sofa, until Mike clears his throat.

“I told Kaylin the truth,” Jeff blurts out, because Mike is waiting to hear something. “And Tyler.”

Mike rubs a hand over his face. “And what’s that?” he asks, and Jeff can how uncertain he is, like he’s not sure he wants to know.

“That I. That I like you,” Jeff says in a rush because he doesn’t want to lose his nerve, even though he’s pretty sure this is not what you’d call nerve. Probably selfishness. “That I really do want this.”

There’s a pause, a really long one. Then Mike sighs. He says, “You can just come in, you know.”

Jeff breathes out.  

“And you can sit,” Mike says when Jeff spends another minute hovering over him.

Jeff nods and sits down next to him, on the other end of the couch with a respectable amount of space between them. “Do you want me to leave?” he asks, then cringes at himself. He was supposed to be the confident one here, but it’s difficult to stay sure when he doesn’t know what goes through Mike’s brain half the time.

Mike turns his head towards Jeff without straightening his neck, and opens his eyes. He catches Jeff’s gaze and holds it for too long, until Jeff’s the one to look away first.

Jeff had asked Kaylin to marry him as an afterthought. He had planned for something romantic of course because he couldn’t _not_ , but the actual ring he’d bought while he was in the airport, in Boston of all places, and just thought, _why not?_. It hadn’t crossed his mind until much later, until he was on one knee and holding the ring up to Kaylin, that maybe she’d say “no”. But even then, it had been distant and fleeting.

With Mike, that same fear is constant and just _there_ , ever since Jeff decided that he actually wanted this, and it hasn’t been that long, not really, but it makes Jeff feel drained nonetheless.

“Kaylin told me that I should stop panicking about every one of my relationships ending in a mess,” Jeff says. He doesn’t look at Mike as he says it, because the words make him feel naked, uncomfortable in front of Mike, but he can feel Mike’s eyes on him.

“Is that what LA was all about?” Mike asks. He doesn’t sound judgmental or angry, just curious, and that’s what helps Jeff go on.

“At first it was you being a guy, because I’d never—” Jeff stops to take a breath. “I’d never felt like that for a guy before. And then it was you being you and how fucking ironic that was. But all that got wrapped up into me not wanting to even try because I was too worried about screwing it up. So, no, It wasn’t what LA was all about, but it was one of the things.”

Mike is quiet after Jeff stops talking but Jeff still doesn’t turn to look at him.

“I’d rather,” he starts, twisting his fingers together on his lap. “I’d rather just be your friend if you think this is gonna ruin that,” Jeff says.

“Being your friend is hard for me,” Mike says. His voice is raspy and this is the first real thing he’s contributing to this conversation. “After you got married, I didn’t even let myself think about you wanting this—wanting _me_ —because you were happy, and Kaylin was great, but then you kissed me and it kinda—it made me hope. A little.”

Mike takes in a shaky breath and continues. “When you said it was nothing, that kinda messed me up.”

Jeff nods. He knew this, but it still makes him feel like shit to hear it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Mike says. It surprises Jeff into finally looking at him, and Mike is smiling, just a little. “I want this, too. And I’m scared shitless of fucking up, too.”

Jeff lets out a long breath of relief. He knows this isn’t a glowing recommendation of where things between them are headed, but knowing he and Mike are on the same boat still makes him feel better. “That’s good.”

Mike chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it is.” Then, “I don’t want you to leave. But I don’t want you to stay out of guilt either. Or because you want to, I don’t know, experiment.” He spits out that last part, the word _experiment_. “If you want that, you should go to a gay bar.” His voice is quiet, growing more hesitant the more he talks.

Jeff winces at the last part, because it’s too close to what he thought he wanted. “This isn’t any of that,” he says, “You are.” He stops to clear his throat and doesn’t look at Mike as he continues. “You are the first person I’ve felt like this for since—” he cuts himself off. “And that’s really fucking scary.” Admitting that is hard, harder than Jeff thought, but easier too. Easier because this is Mike, and Mike makes Jeff feel steadier. He has that effect on people.

Still, Jeff doesn’t look up until he feels Mike’s hand, heavy and solid, on the back of his neck. “I want to try,” Mike says. The skin of his palm is rough, catching on Jeff’s nape. “I don’t know what will come out of it, but I do want to try.”

 

 

 

“Hey, do you want me to change the water, too?” Jeff asks as he’s filling up the cats’ bowls with catfood. He’s come to accept that there is no avoiding the cats, and as such Jeff needs to learn to cohabitate with them. Feeding them is apparently part of that process, according to Mike.

Mike is unloading the dishwasher, and doesn’t seem to have heard Jeff.

“Mike,” Jeff says again, to get his attention.

This time Mike startles and turns around to face at him. “What?” he asks, glancing around the room like he might have missed something.

“I said, do you want me to change the water, too?” Jeff says again.

Mike just looks at Jeff for a couple of seconds before shaking his head. “No, that’s fine. I did it earlier.”

Jeff nods and sits up to put the bag of catfood back into the cupboard. Mike has moved on to the plates now, and Jeff leans against the counter to watch him. “So, how’s training?” he asks. He tries to use the same tone he uses when he asks Chris questions, to be curious but not too curious.

Mike shrugs, bends over to grab another plate. “Slow,” he says, “It’s just off ice stuff right now, mostly conditioning. Steven says – ” He reaches up to put the plate into the cupboard above him, and it slips through his fingers, clattering as it hits the counter.

Jeff grabs it before it rolls onto the floor and breaks. Mike has taken a couple of steps back and is looking at the plate in Jeff’s hands. “Sorry,” he says, giving a nervous laugh. “My hand slipped.” He takes the plate from Jeff and puts it in the cupboard, this time moving very slowly, every turn of his body seemingly well thought out.

“You okay?” Jeff asks. His hand hovers by Mike’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Mike says quickly but he still sounds nervous. “What was I saying?” He’s shifty, and he doesn’t meet Jeff’s eyes.

“Uhm, training,” Jeff says, “I asked you about training.”

“Right,” Mike says. He frowns, trying to remember exactly where he left off.

Jeff waits him out, even though he doesn’t think this is exactly normal.

A few seconds pass, way too long if Mike was going to keep talking, and then Mike huffs. He moves to stand next to Jeff, close enough that their shoulders are touching, but he’s looking at his feet. “It’s, uhm, it’s different?” he says, “Doing something and trying to talk at the same time. It’s…” He scrunches up his face like he’s looking for the right word. “It’s different; distracting.” There is something in his voice that makes Jeff not want to take his eyes off him. 

Jeff thinks to the piece of paper that he first noticed the other day, stuck on the wall above the alarm. The word “STOVE” written on it in big, block letters, three lines drawn messily underneath it. He glances to the stove now, to the ruined burner that he saw and didn’t think twice off. He thought Mike just needed to get it fixed. But he sees the jagged pieces of metal stuck to the ceramic surface now, half melted onto it, and he listens to what Mike’s trying to tell him, and it clicks.

“Is that what happened to the stove too?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. Trying not to show how absolutely terrified he is, because this is not a conversation he ever thought he’d be having.

Mike shrugs. “Kinda. My mom called and I. I got distracted,” he says. He doesn’t look up from the floor. “The smoke alarm went off.”

Jeff feels something in his stomach twist. He wants to say that this is just a thing that happens, everyone can be forgetful. But they’re not really talking about misplacing keys here. This is not really forgetfulness.

Jeff spread his fingers further apart around the edge of the counter until his pinkie brushes Mike’s. Mike glances up to meet his eyes, just for a second.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Jeff asks. He’s relieved when Mike nods.

“She said it’ll get better with time. I mean, it has too, otherwise—” Mike snaps his mouth shut. “I need it to get better so I can play,” he tries again. His voice is soft, and he sounds like he just wants Jeff to understand.

Jeff doesn’t, but he nods anyway. He can’t really see how Mike would be able to play hockey if—if he can’t even manage to not burn down his own kitchen. He doesn’t say that though, because that’s not his decision to make, and more than that, it’d be cruel to use this against Mike. He glances down between them and thinks about taking Mike’s hand, but Mike’s knuckles are white around the granite.

“The doctor said that this, and the, uh,” Mike pauses for a moment. “The mood swings, they’re normal.”

Jeff thinks this conversation is for his own benefit rather than Mike’s, since Mike’s heard it already, probably more than once. He can tell Mike is clearly uncomfortable having it too, and so is Jeff, but a part of him, a pretty considerable part, is just glad that Mike’s telling him this. Relieved even. “Thanks. For telling me,” he says, knocking their knees together.

Mike cracks a smile, but it’s dry. “I’m just letting you know what you’re signing up for,” he says, like he’s joking, but also like he’s dead-serious. Like this is Jeff’s out, right here, if he wants to take it. “I mean, I did fling a glass across the room while we were talking.”

Jeff shrugs. Mike had. But he’d also woken up the next morning and vacuumed, even though the sound of the doorbell made him cringe then, because he wanted make sure his cats wouldn't step on any rogue pieces of glass. Mike also almost burnt down his kitchen apparently, and Jeff wasn’t here for that, but that’s almost twice as scary. “Thanks for the heads up,” he says, trying to imitate Mike’s tone. He looks down again, and this time, he covers Mike’s fingers with his own. “But, you know, I already came to _Columbus_ for you, so.”

Mike chuckles and his fingers relax under Jeff’s.

Jeff is careful about when he tries to get Mike’s attention after that, and he makes it a habit to check the kitchen more often. He tries not to be obvious about it, but he’s pretty sure Mike knows anyway. He’s also pretty sure Mike doesn’t mind.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t have a lot of ways to entertain himself in Mike’s house, so he decides to take advantage of Mike’s gym. He doesn’t work out the way he used to, but he still has a lot of energy to burn off, so he ends up on the treadmill for a few minutes before switching to the bike. Mike likes to keep the thermostat pretty high in the house, so Jeff loses his shirt at some point along the way and just uses to wipe the sweat off his face.

He’s still shirtless when he leaves the gym and runs into Mike in the hallway. Mike looks up when Jeff narrowly misses bumping into him, and he opens his mouth, probably to grumble something about Jeff watching where he’s going, but he freezes before he can get anything out. Their eyes meet, and Jeff can see it when Mike makes the almost conscious decision to let his eyes linger.

This is, Jeff is fairly certain, the first time he’s seen Mike look at him like this, like Mike likes what he sees. Like Jeff’s more than just his friend. Even while they kissed Mike didn’t look this uninhibited. It makes Jeff flustered, just standing there, practically half naked, Mike’s eyes traveling across his shoulders and over his chest, along his neck and down his stomach. He’s also fairly certain that he’s blushing, because Mike’s blushing too, that soft pink that spreads all the way up to the tips of his ears.

But Jeff doesn’t move away, doesn’t try to put his shirt back on, because he thinks this is more than Jeff seeing Mike look at him like, it’s Mike letting him see it. And Jeff likes it. He likes knowing that Mike finds him attractive, and he likes the way Mike’s eyes have gone dark when he looks up at Jeff’s face again.

“I was going to,” he starts, and his voice is rough. “I was just heading.” He makes a gesture with his hand towards the stairs but doesn’t verbally elaborate. “You know,” he just says.

Jeff thinks Mike’s being pretty amusing right now, and he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Mike repeats. “I’m just gonna go.” He starts gesturing again. “Pretend this didn’t happen,” he mumbles sullenly, a little awkward, but mostly just exasperated at himself, so Jeff doesn’t think he’s being serious. This is new for Jeff, but it’s new for Mike too.

Jeff gets an idea, and he slowly wipes his shirt across his chest and stomach, holding Mike’s gaze as he does so.

Mike nods. “Good talk,” he says, shooting Jeff a thumbs up before turning around to walk away.

 

 

 

Two days after their run-in in the hallway Mike is still awkward about it. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other shirtless before, or even naked, or even touched each other’s dicks, but this is what apparently makes Mike feel weird. Which is fine, kinda cute in Jeff’s opinion, not that Jeff’s about to share that with Mike.

Jeff’s caught Mike looking at him too, this thoughtful expression on his face like he’s considering something. It makes Jeff nervous, not because he thinks it’s bad, but half the time Mike looks like he’s about to say something, only he doesn’t, and Jeff can’t help wondering what it’s about.

Mike is doing it again now, while they’re sitting on the couch in the afternoon. Jeff is texting Kaylin on his phone, getting the scoop about what the kids are up to, but he can see Mike from the corner of his eye, where he’s failing at pretending to watch TV. His eyebrows are drawn together a little, and his lips are parted, and every few seconds he’ll start biting them, then change the channel on the TV.

Jeff is a big fan of this approach that he’s adopted, where he tries not to rock the waters too bad, especially now that things are relatively good. But if he’s learnt anything from his marriage and the subsequent divorce, is that that approach is wholly unrealistic.

Mike takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and closes it again before he says anything. Jeff presses send on his phone and puts it aside. He turns to face Mike and tries not to laugh at the slightly mortified look on Mike’s face, like he’s just realizing he’s gotten caught. “Is there something you need?” Jeff asks carefully. He’s sort of looking forward to the time where questions like this don’t make his heart speed up; he’s sure what’s happening in his chest right now is cannot be good for his health.

Mike licks his lips and after a few second turns the TV to mute. “Yeah, actually. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he says.

Jeff shifts on the couch until he’s in what he hopes looks like an inviting position, and gestures for Mike to go ahead.

“Just so you know, you can say no,” Mike starts. “I just, Jack mentioned it a few days ago, and it sounded like a good idea. But, ugh, Joey is doing this thing for New Years and.” His eyes dart up to meet Jeff’s. “If you wanted to. We could go. Like, you could come with me, and we could go together,” he says, tripping over his words and blushing. His mildly terrified expression makes Jeff feel like his sixteen again, awkward and awkwardly gangly, and trying to ask the girl he liked out on a date.

Jeff isn’t sixteen anymore, and he’s mostly got social etiquette down, and he also has sufficient control of his limbs.

But this probably _is_ a date.

Jeff’s chest feels warm at the thought, even as his hands feel clammy. He’s sort of—overwhelmed, because he hasn’t been asked on a date like this in a while. “Uh… yeah. I’d – that’d be nice,” he says.

Mike smiles, and Jeff will willfully admit that the way he smiles back is cheesy but totally called for. “Okay.” Mike nods. “That’s, yeah, that’s good.” He unmutes the TV, and gives Jeff another smile before turning back to a Friends rerun.

“Are you sure it’d be okay though, for me to be there?” Jeff asks, two or three jokes into the episode, because he hasn’t forgotten how Mike’s teammates don’t really have the warmest of feelings towards him.

“Yeah.” Mike shrugs, unconcerned. He would be too. Mike’s teammates like Mike well enough. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“No reason,” Jeff says quickly, probably too quickly.

Mike turns to look at Jeff and sighs. “I’m sorry about that,” he says. He gives Jeff a small smile. “I’ll talk to them about it.”

That’s nice of him, but Jeff doesn’t want to be the cause of friction between Mike and his teammates. “You don’t have to do that,” he says.

“I want to,” Mike says, in this tone that he has that bears no argument. “They’re being ridiculous anyways.”

“They’re just trying to help,” Jeff says.

“No, they like to meddle,” Mike argues, and Jeff has to look away to hide his smile. He’s pretty sure Mike can see it anyway, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

“Thank you,” Jeff says a few minutes later, once he’s sure his voice won’t come out too sugary for words.

He can see Mike’s shrug from the corner of his eye. “You really don’t have to,” he says.

It’s the steadiness in his voice that makes Jeff look up, and he has to swallow when he meets Mike’s eyes, wide and too focused on Jeff. Mike starts shifting closer to him, and Jeff holds his gaze, doesn’t look away and doesn’t move because he needs to know that Mike wants this just as much as Jeff does. He closes his eyes when he feels Mike’s breath on his cheek, and he’s pretty sure Mike does too.

He can feel it when Mike stops, just a few inches away from Jeff’s face, but it’s only for a second, and then Mike’s closing the rest of the distance between them. It’s nothing more than a simple press of lips, nothing longer than a couple of seconds, but it makes Jeff’s heart speed up nonetheless, his stomach go tight.

When Jeff pulls back, Mike is smiling, but his eyes are still closed, like he’s savoring it. The thought makes Jeff swallow, hard, because it feels real now, and Jeff can see all the things that could go wrong between them. He can see all the things that could go right.

Mike blinks his eyes open, gives Jeff a lazy smile. He bites his lip, looks down between them, and then slowly starts moving his leg over Jeff’s hips, straddling him. Jeff looks up at him, a little dumbly, but he doesn’t think he can be blamed. He moves his hands to Mike’s hips, just holding him there, and urges Mike to settle in more comfortably, even though the pressure a little awkward on Jeff’s knee. But their height difference really makes this work, and Mike cups Jeff’s jaw, tipping his head until their lips are at about the same level.

Jeff thinks Mike looks at least half as scared as Jeff feels and, oddly, that’s what makes him relax.

“Hi,” Mike says, like the dork that he is, and Jeff chuckles before leaning in to kiss him again.

It’s chaste, even though with how they’re sitting it probably shouldn’t be, but it’s really nice too. A couple of minutes into it, with Jeff’s arms now wrapped around Mike’s waist, Jeff realizes that they’ve never done this before, never really made out, which makes sense; there’s not really a whole lot that they _have_ done. It makes him pause for a moment though, sort of awkwardly, but Mike kisses the corner of his mouth, as if this is nothing new at all. Jeff isn’t naive enough to think that, not after what he did, but Mike and he have always been close—barring the last few years—so Jeff brushes their noses together and goes back to kissing him, because that’s how this will become something not-new, and Jeff is honestly shocked at how much he wants that.

They stay like that until Jeff can’t ignore the weight on his knee anymore and starts trying to shift away without tipping Mike off too much. Of course, it doesn’t work, and Mike pulls back to give him a confused look. “What’s wrong?” he asks. His lips are really red, and Jeff has to try to think past that.

“Uhm, it’s just.” Jeff nudges at Mike’s thigh until Mike climbs off him.

Mike looks disappointed, but it’s only until he sees Jeff massaging his knee, and then he looks concerned and guilty. It makes Jeff feel a little prickly, Mike knowing that it hurts.

“It’s fine,” Jeff says after a few seconds. He stretches out his leg and sits back on the couch. The TV has changed to Two And A Half Men, back when Charlie Sheen was still on it. “Just cramped up.”

Mike looks unconvinced with his frown and his perplexed eyebrows. “I’m sorry. I should have asked,” he says.

“No, no, it’s really fine,” Jeff says quickly, because this was the first time Mike kissed him, and he doesn’t want to do anything that might hinder the chances of that happening again. “I liked that.”

Mike didn’t turn the TV to mute again, and Jeff is glad for the noise when Mike doesn’t say anything for the next minute. When he speaks again, it’s to say, “We could have done something else,” he says, gentle. “Does it. Does it hurt? I mean, you favor it when you walk.”

Jeff shrugs. He’s had the very same conversation with his Physical Therapist at least a dozen times, but his mouth never felt like it was filled with cotton then like it does now.

Mike glances between Jeff’s eyes and his knee, settles his hand on Jeff’s knee, somehow making it look casual.

Jeff is used to keeping these things to himself, even when it’s too bad for that. Mike is too. But he talked to Jeff about his concussion, and Jeff can’t imagine that to have been easy. “Sometimes,” he says, wincing at how unwilling that sounds, even to himself.

Mike strokes his thumb down the center of Jeff’s knee, right along one of the scars, and Jeff reaches out to thread their fingers together.

They watch the rest of the episode like that, and then another one, even though it’s a little uncomfortable with Jeff’s naturally sweaty hands. But he likes the closeness of it, and he doesn’t want to move away from Mike just yet. Mike seems to be feeling the same way, but in any case, Jeff is glad Mike doesn’t mention his unwillingness to let go.

Jeff grabs the remote and turns the volume down when Mike starts wincing at the audience’s laughs. He turns the TV off altogether when he notices him blinking rapidly at the screen.

“I’m fine,” Mike starts, trying to snatch the remote back, but he’s a little uncoordinated in the way his hands move. Jeff hopes it’s because they’ve been sitting here for at least the past hour and tries to keep it off his face. “If you wanna keep watching—”

“I don’t wanna keep watching,” Jeff cuts him off. He looks between them, shrugs before moving to the end of the couch.

Mike frowns at him. Jeff looks down his lap until Mike takes a hint and lies down, his head resting on Jeff’s thigh, and his nose digging into Jeff’s sweater.

It’s too quiet between them, but Mike’s house always is, and Jeff’s isn’t much different unless the kids are around.

“You can watch something else if you want,” Mike says a few minutes later, breathing the words against Jeff’s stomach. He sounds sleepy. Jeff looks down and notices how one of Mike’s hands in hooked into the hem of Jeff’s sweater. Jeff tries not to accidentally dislodge it by, like, breathing.

“I’m okay,” Jeff says, quiet. “But thanks.”

 

 

 

Kaylin calls Jeff on New Years Day, before he and Mike leave for Johansen’s house, and Jeff goes outside to answer it. “The kids have something to tell you,” Kaylin says, as soon as Jeff picks up the phone, and then there’s a loud “Happy Birthday” shrieked into Jeff’s ear from Dylan and Chris.

Jeff laughs and patiently waits through Dylan arguing that he should get to go first. “Happy Birthday, dad,” he says, once he’s apparently won the argument.

“Thanks, buddy,” Jeff says.

“How old are you now?”

“Uhm, I’m thirty-six,” he says, and laughs at Dylan’s impressed “Wow, that’s a lot of years.”

“Eh.” Jeff shrugs. “I’m still fun though, right?” he jokes.

“Well,” Dylan says, “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Jeff huffs in mock outrage.

Dylan giggles into the phone, and Jeff smiles. “What are you guys doing today?” he asks, once the giggling’s died down.

“Mom’s taking us skating. I get to try my new skates,” Dylan tells him excitedly. “They have yellow laces like Ovechkin,” he points out for approximately the fourth time since he unboxed them. He’s excited enough that his words aren’t so careful anymore, his lisp a little more pronounced. “I’m gonna be so fast now like him.”

“Well, you were already plenty fast without the laces,” Jeff argues. He switches out the hand that’s holding the phone to his ear because his fingers have started to go numb and shoves it in his pocket.

“Yeah, but I’m gonna be even faster now,” Dylan says, with all the authority of a nine year old who knows he’s obviously right.

Jeff laughs, his breath fogging up in front of him. Dylan hands the phone over to Chris after that, who tells Jeff that he drew something for him, and Jeff should guess what it is. Jeff takes a few guesses, ranging from boat to plane to giraffe, even though, realistically, the drawing is probably fish related. “Why don’t you tell me?” he asks, after Chris has shot down all of his guesses.

“Because, dad,” Chris says, “It’s a surprise. You have to wait.”

“Oh, fine,” Jeff mumbles, which makes Chris laugh. It’s only for a moment though, and then he asks Jeff, very seriously, “We’re really getting a fish when we get back, right?” He sounds timid and Jeff is definitely not cruel enough to mess with him on this.

“Yeah, buddy, we are. As soon as we’re both back in LA we’ll go to the store,” Jeff says. He switches out his hands again and grumbles internally at himself for not just staying inside.

“Really?” Chris asks again.

“Yes, I promise. You can even pick it,” Jeff says.

He hears Chris gasp on the other end of the line, so clearly he believes Jeff now. “I can pick any fish I want?”

And, yeah, Jeff should have made sure to phrase that more carefully. “Well, it can’t be too big,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“Like, not bigger than the size of your fist,” Jeff says, “It has to be able to fit into a fishbowl.”

“Oh.” Chris deflates at that, but it’s not long before he perks up again. “But other than that, it can be anything I want?”

Jeff is certain he will regret this some time in the near future. “Sure,” he says, carefully.

Chris gets bored soon after that so he gives the phone to Kaylin. Kaylin makes fun of Jeff fort the “no bigger than your fist” condition, but Jeff must take proper measures so as not to end up with a house sized whale living with him. Or an eel. An eel could probably attack him in his sleep.

“Eels can’t survive outside water, Jeff,” Kaylin says when Jeff tells her as much, but what does she know, she’s not the one who will be living with a flesh-hungry eel.

“Fish are funky. I’m sure if the eel is hungry it will find a way,” Jeff argues.

Jeff is sure Kaylin rolls her eyes at him then. “Do you and Richie have plans for today?” she asks.

“Uhm,” Jeff hesitates for a moment, even though he can’t say why. “One of his teammates is having a dinner thing. We’re going.”

“Oh,” Kaylin says, and nothing else comes for a few seconds. Jeff switches out his hands again and starts pacing on the part of the driveway that’s cleared of snow because he can’t feel his feet anymore.

“So, things are looking good, then?” Kaylin eventually says.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, kicking some snow out of his way. “I mean, I guess so. God, this is difficult, I don’t remember it being so difficult.”

Kaylin laughs. “It probably was,” she says.

They hang up a few minutes later, after Jeff makes her promise to send him pictures of what she and the kids end up doing the rest of the day. “Will _you_ send me any pictures?” she teases, and Jeff gives her a dry laugh because, no, he will not be sending his ex wife any pictures of him and—ugh, his boyfriend? Jeff isn’t sure if that word is right, but _friend_ isn’t either, he knows that much.

When Jeff gets back inside, Mike barely waits until he’s takes his shoes off before shoving an envelope in his hands. “I just wanted to give you this,” Mike says, fingers pinched around a patch of hair on his beard. “It’s for, you know, Happy Birthday and everything.” He sounds nervous, shifting his weight between his feet, and Jeff starts opening the envelope because he doesn’t want to prolong Mike’s torture.

Inside the envelope is a folded up piece of paper, and when Jeff unfolds it, he finds it’s actually a receipt. It’s for online college courses. The price is scribbled over with a black marker, and on the bottom of the page, written in the same marker is “happy birthday” in Mike’s uneven handwriting. There’s an exclamation point too. And a smiley face.

“There’s an orientation test too that you can take,” Mike says, point to the receipt. “So, you know, you can decide between, like, history and economics or whatever.”

Jeff isn’t really sure what to say for a moment, and maybe he’s been silent for too long, because Mike says, “I mean, you don’t have to use it or anything. It’s just. You look bored. Sometimes.”

Jeff swallows, finally looks up from the receipt for the first time since Mike gave it to him. Mike is looking at the floor, hands shoved in his pockets, and Jeff can’t tell if he’s blushing under his beard but he thinks he is. “No, uh, thanks,” he says, and his voice comes out a little shaky.

“Really, if you don’t like it, that’s fine. I mean, it’s, ugh, like,” he frowns for a moment like he’s searching for the right word. Jeff doesn’t interrupt him because he knows that just makes it harder for Mike to concentrate. “Refundable,” Mike finally says, relieved. “It’s refundable, so.”

“No, Mike, I really. I really like it,” Jeff hurries to say. “It’s great. Thank you.”

Mike glances up at that, enough to give Jeff a small smile. He breathes out. “Okay, then. We should start getting going. We’re gonna get ribbed if we’re late,” he says, and his voice is not as tight anymore.

Mike turns around to leave, and Jeff looks down at the paper, looks at Mike, and then reaches out to grab his wrist. Mike gives him a questioning look, and they don’t really do this, but Jeff thinks this is the right time for it. He steps into Mike’s space, rests his hands on Mike’s hip. His thumb strokes over Mike’s hipbone, down to his belt and back up again, and Jeff leans down to press their lips together like it’s something they do every day. It’s not, not really, and the way Jeff’s stomach untangles once Mike kisses back is a good enough reminder of that. But Jeff can feel Mike’s lips stretching into a smile under his own, and he thinks, quietly, that it could be.

 

 

 

Mike and Jeff are two of the last to make it to Johasnen’s house – as Jeff surmises from the crowded state of Johansen’s driveway – so they have to park a couple of blocks down the street. It’s not too far, but it takes them twice the amount of time it should since Mike has to stop very few seconds to squint at Jeff’s face. “Do I have something on my face or what?” Jeff finally asks, as they walk up to Johansen’s door.

“No,” Mike says. He’s face is scrunched up in confusion. “No, there’s just something different about it. Did you do something?”

“I shaved,” Jeff says because he wasn’t about to go somewhere to be surrounded by Mike’s teammates while looking like a hobo. “Could that be it?”

“No, not – ” Mike cuts himself off, eyes growing wide. A grin spreads over his face and he rocks back on his heels. “You put your teeth in,” he says then, sounding all too satisfied for Jeff’s liking.

Jeff groans from deep in his throat and reaches out to ring the doorbell since Mike doesn’t seem inclined to do so.

“That is so cute, Jeff,” Mike says, poking at Jeff’s cheek with a gloved finger.

Jeff tries to duck it but that’s how Johansen opens the door to find them. “Uhm, are you guys… okay over there?” he asks. His lips twitch.

Jeff sighs. He hands over the pie that Mike and he stopped on the way to get and shuffles inside to Johansen’s snickering. Clearly, not even Jeff’s fake teeth can help him make a good impression on these people.

 

 

 

Jeff doesn’t get the warmest reception from Mike’s teammates, but there are no decapitation threats made, which is nice of them. Also, no one tries to steal Jeff’s things, which is also very important.

Mike makes sure to stick by his side as much as he can, and drags Jeff with him as he makes his way through his teammates. He introduces Jeff to all the guys Jeff doesn’t know, some of whom have stronger handshakes then others, strong enough to make Jeff’s knuckles creak a little. Jeff regrets not leaving his teeth out. Perhaps he shouldn’t have bothered shaving either, maybe let his beard grow out for a week or so. Just to look appropriately intimidating.

Mike eventually has to leave Jeff alone to get them something to drink, but he drags Cam over to keep Jeff company until he comes back. Jeff takes it as an opportunity to scan the crowd, mostly young guys,with the exceptions of Johnson and Saad – and Atkinson, Jeff supposes, though his face just ruins the veteran effect – and Jeff doesn’t think he can see a woman in sight. His eyes catch on the sliding doors that lead out to the deck, where he can spot someone jumping up and down in front of the grill.

Jeff turns concerned eyes at Cam, because surely the weather is too cold for grilling outside.

“He just got called up. He’s in charge of the steaks,” Cam explains, with an expansive wave of his hand.

Jeff’s eyes the frankly disturbing amounts of food already set out on the kitchen table, practically overflowing it, and the counters too. “Are those stakes really necessary?” he asks slowly.

Cam grins. “Well, not really,” he says, “But it’s good to have them.”

 

 

 

Once everybody’s sat down at the table, Johansen stands up, clinks his knife against his beer bottle. “Before we eat, I jut want to set some rules,” he starts, once he’s got everyone’s attention. “One, there is no hockey talk to be had. Two, no complaining over being on IR,” he turns his attention to Wennberg at that, then Mike. “And three, for the love of god, do not start on the scoring race,” he warns, particularly stern on the third rule.

“What is all this censorship business,” one of the guys complains, loudly, at the last part.

“Preach it,” Johnson agrees, though he seems to be poking fun at Johansen for the most part.

Johansen addresses Johnson first. “You, shush,” he says, finger pointing and everything. “And you, I’m laying the law, take your complaints elsewhere.”

“Hockey is banned from all of these gatherings,” Mike explains to Jeff in a quiet voice, after Johansen has laid the law to his satisfaction and they’ve started eating.

“What do you guys talk about then?” Jeff asks, because _no hockey_ excludes a pretty considerate part of their lives.

Mike smirks. “Watch,” he says.

Jeff doesn’t have to watch for long. Soon enough, the indistinct eating noises turn to very distinct chirping. The hot subject seems to be Johnson’s new girlfriend, who he is, apparently, head over heels for, but didn’t bring with him to introduce to the team.

“Were you worried she was going to like us better than you?” one of the younger guys asks, waggling his eyebrows in Johnson’s general direction.

“I was actually worried she was going to run for the hills, but if that reason works better for you then sure,” Johnson says drily.

“Oh, come on,” Johansen joins in, “Why aren’t you more like Richie, he brought—ow, dude, what the fuck.” Jeff felt Mike’s leg move next to his, so he knows when Johansen turns to glare at Mike it’s because Mike kicked him.

“ _Pie_ ,” Mike says, and his voice is strained. “Richie brought _pie_. Which you will go and get right now.”

Johansen glares right back, unrelenting. Jeff looks between them and is reminded of the first time he came to Columbus, when Mike first got hurt. “Fine,” Johansen says finally. “Jeff, come help me with the pie.” He smiles at Jeff. Jeff assumes it’s supposed to be in a friendly way. It looks a little shark-like.

Mike looks abruptly alarmed by that, and he puts his hand on Jeff’s shoulder to keep him seated. “I’ll help you, Jeff is still eating,” he says.

“Actually,” Jeff starts, because he’s full. “I’m done.”

“Are you sure?” Mike asks him carefully.

Jeff knows he’s supposed to say no, but he just shrugs. He knows where Johansen is coming from, and this is most likely about Mike, but it’s still Jeff that Johansen’s got a problem with.

“See, Richie, he’s good,” Johansen says, pushing his chair back from the table. “Let’s go, Jeff.”

Jeff follows Johansen to the kitchen, where Johansen takes out the pie from the fridge and asks Jeff to take the plates out of the cupboard. “Look,” he starts, and Jeff stops stacking plates in order to turn around and face him. “I just wanted to clear up a few things.” He picks up the cake knife that was sitting on the counter, and, like, Jeff knows he needs the knife for the food, but that’s still a very large knife.

“Okay, but can you put the knife down, please,” Jeff says quickly.

Johansen looks down at his hand, then back at Jeff like he’s just now realizing what this looks like. He puts the knife down and starts shaking his head. “No, no, no, dude, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, freak you out,” he says. He looks guilty, and a little ashamed too, so Jeff waves him off.

“It’s fine, just, you know, making sure you aren’t going to hack me up,” Jeff jokes.

Johansen chuckles. “No, I, uh, I don’t think I’m doing that. I’m pretty sure Richie’s gonna hack _me_ up if I do that,” he says, “Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For the less than friendly way I’ve treated you.”

Jeff narrows his eyes. “Did Richie ask you to say that?” he asks.

Johansen frowns. “Well, yes and no,” he says, “He told me to stop being a dick, but the apologizing is all on my own volition.”

“Uhm, okay. Thanks? I guess?” Jeff says, because Johansen doesn’t look done but he isn't saying anything else either.

“But, Jeff,” Johansen finally starts, and he’s very particular about using Jeff’s name. “I don’t know what’s happening between you, so I’m not gonna pretend to know, but Richie came back from LA and spent a week on Jack’s couch, and I’d rather that didn’t happen again,” he says. His eyes feel like they’re drilling holes into Jeff’s skull.

Jeff doesn’t know Johansen very well, but he knows enough to tell that this is a threat. He swallows, nods. “Okay,” he says.

“Jeff. If you’re mean to him, I will find a way to be mean to you,” Johansen says, clearly having moved on to openly threatening Jeff now.

“Alright,” Jeff says, slowly. When Johansen doesn’t stop glaring at him, Jeff adds, “Ryan.”

That seems to satisfy Ryan, and he turns his attention back to pie.

Jeff licks his lips and thinks about whether or not he should ask, whether or not he’s in any position to ask. “Hey,” he says in the end, and Ryan looks up. “You really don’t know?”

Ryan looks away again, shrugs. “I mean, I kinda think I know, but that’s not because Richie told me anything,” he says, and Jeff can’t figure out if there’s any accusation in his voice. Then, “I don’t know if you noticed it, but Richie’s kinda weird about you.”

Jeff chuckles, the knot in his stomach easing a little. He looks away, to the floor. He thinks, if Johansen knows, then he can’t be the only one. Secrets don’t really hold up very well inside a team. He waits for the familiar anxiety to settle over him at the realization, and he’s surprised when it doesn’t. But this is Mike’s team, who voted on who they should call when Mike got hurt, and who have been giving Jeff the stink eye in lieu of threats in case he messes with Mike again. Jeff says, “I’m kinda weird about him too, so.” and it’s difficult to get the words out, but it makes him breathe easier.

 

 

 

“You know you can tell people. Your friends. If you want,” Jeff blurts out when they’re in the car, driving back to Mike house.

Mike leans in to turn off the car radio. He’s got this pinched look on his face that Jeff has come to associate with migraines. “Tell them what?” he asks. His voice is subdued, and Jeff realizes that this probably isn’t the best time to do this.

He started it though, and he knows Mike isn’t going to let it go now. “About us,” he says.

Mike sighs. “What should I tell them about us?” he asks. He doesn’t sound annoyed, just honestly curious. When Jeff glances at him, he’s resting his head against the window.

“That we’re, ugh, we’re dating,” Jeff says. The words feel strange in his mouth, but he’s pretty sure that has more to do with Mike’s reaction rather anything else.

Mike laughs, softly, and sits up. “Is that what we’re doing?” he asks, and it’s said in the same tone as before, no judgment, just open curiosity.

Jeff shrugs. “I know it’s been a while since I dated anyone, but we kissed today, and then we went to your friends’ house for dinner. I’m pretty sure this counts as dating,” he says.

Mike is quiet. Jeff can feel his eyes on him. “Are you sure that would be okay?” he asks, slowly. “I don’t need you to do that to prove something to me.”

Jeff knows. Mike never asked that of him. He probably never will. “It’s not about that,” Jeff says, “I just don’t want you to feel like you have lie for my benefit. ”

Mike puts his hand on Jeff’s thigh, much like he had all throughout the dinner at Ryan’s place. He has his face turned towards the window, but he’s smiling.

 

 

 

There are days when Jeff gets to see Mike from the moment he wakes up, or Mike comes back from training, to the moment he falls asleep, and with little breaks in between. He gets to see Mike smile, this bright wide thing, and he gets to make Mike blush, and it’s the flush that Jeff loves, the one that makes him wish Mike just shaved his beard already so Jeff could see what it did to his cheeks. Those days the mostly spent being lazy, but together, and Mike harps on Jeff endlessly, makes fun of him in increasingly creative ways and then kisses him to make up for it.

Then there are days where Jeff doesn’t get to see Mike at all. Or sees him long enough only for Mike to give him an apologetic look before ducking back inside his room. The blinds stay closed on those days, and the lights turned off, the noise to a minimum. Jeff has to feed the cats on those days.

And then there are the days in between, where Mike can’t find the word he wants and his attention span is about as long as the attention span of a goldfish. Mike is irritable on those days, snapping at himself and at Jeff and at any object in his way. Jeff learnt long before any concussion how to not get on Mike Richards’ nerves, so he uses that knowledge, and they manage to avoid confrontation for the most part. Jeff is pretty sure that it’s those days that feel the worst to Mike.

Jeff gets pretty good at distinguishing the days from another, mostly out of necessity. He can see it, when he wakes up, that Mike doesn’t feel great, but he doesn’t say anything, not until he has to try three times to get Mike’s attention. Then, he suggests, gently, “Maybe you could skip it today?”

Mike’s shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists on the table. “You know I can’t do that,” he says tightly.

Jeff purses his lips. “You can though. You can just say you’re not up to it,” he says.

Mike breathes out through his nose, like he’s doing his best not to yell at Jeff.

“You’ve done it – ” Jeff starts saying, and Mike uncurls one of his fists, slams his hand down on the table.

“I just can’t, okay, leave it alone,” he hisses through his teeth, quiet but harsh enough to make Jeff blink.

Mike’s phone dings two seconds later, before either of them says anything else, and Mike gets up, out his coat on. “I have to go,” he says, and doesn’t meet Jeff’s eyes once before he leaves.

 

 

 

Jeff is not as surprised as he should be when the Jackets’ head trainer calls him a few hours later and asks him if he can come pick Mike up. It still takes Jeff a moment to respond, but in the meantime, the trainer assures him that nothing went wrong, that they just pushed a little harder today and Mike wasn’t up to it yet. It’s not quite patronizing, but it is placating, and Jeff hates how much he needs to hear it. He doesn’t interrupt the man, just grinds his teeth through it and doesn’t ask something like, “Then why did you do it.” Instead he says, “Sure, I’m getting in the car right now.”

Jeff’s fingers dig in the steering wheel the whole drive over to the training facility. He drives well under the speed limit, and doesn’t run any orange lights, but only because he knows how icy the roads are this time of the year in Columbus.

The trainer – he introduces himself as Steven – meets Jeff at the entrance of the building, and leads him to the exam room where Mike is. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as they make their way there, uses the same tone as he had on the phone, but it just makes Jeff feel worse now, his nerves wound up tighter.

In the exam room, all the lights are turned off and Mike sitting on the couch, bent over with his head between his knees. He doesn’t look up until he feels Jeff’s hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” Jeff says, soft, and rubs his thumb over the lower part of Mike’s neck that he can reach. “Hey, are you ready to go?” he asks.

Mike blinks up at him a few times before he nods. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “Yes, please.”

Jeff helps him up and Mike doesn’t fight him off, which is enough to make Jeff’s heart beat a little faster. Outside, he can see how pale Mike actually is, almost a little green. Even if Jeff couldn’t, Mike asking him twice to pull the car over so he can get out and breathe would be enough. Mike just looks bad, the kind of bad Jeff hasn’t seen since Mike first got hurt.

It’s scary to think of that though, that almost two months have passed with no real progress, so Jeff doesn’t.

Mike’s cats come to greet him when they get home, and Mike doesn’t even spare them a glance, just heads straight for the stairs, one hand on the rail and another gripping Jeff’s arm until they get to the top. He sinks down on the bed as soon as they get to his room, and Jeff walks over to him, kneels down in front of him. His hands go to Mike’s shoes, starting to unite his laces, and Mike pushes him off.

“I can take my own fucking shoes off,” he snaps.

“Alright,” Jeff says evenly and gets to his feet, because he knows this is Mike picking a fight. Jeff stretches out his left leg as discreetly as he can, even though he doubts Mike is in a position to notice anything besides his headache right now, and reaches out to take the bottle of ibuprofen from Mike’s nightstand.

“I’m gonna be right back, okay?” he says, once he sees it’s empty.

He’s halfway up the stairs again when he hears the distinctive sound of something breaking. He freezes for a couple of seconds, a couple of seconds too long, and then he hurries the rest of the way up to Mike’s room.

Mike is sitting on the bed, and it takes Jeff a moment to register that, to get his heart to calm down. There’s a black smudge on the wall next to the door and right underneath it pieces of a broken remote with two batteries. Jeff opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong but Mike beats him to it, “Why the fuck are all the blinds up?” he spits out, still not looking at Jeff.

Jeff doesn’t bother answering because it won’t make a difference and just starts pulling down the shades manually from the switches by the windows since that was the remote Mike threw against the wall. Mike snorts once the room is dark again, every shade pulled down shut and only some light filtering in from the hallway.

Jeff thinks about leaving then, just going down to the kitchen to sit and wait, just get away from _here_ , but he doesn’t know whose benefit that would be for.

Mike doesn’t stir when Jeff lies down on the mattress next to him, even though he must be able to feel the shift of the weight. He does stir when Jeff reaches out and wraps his fingers around Mike’s wrist, but doesn’t pull away. Jeff’s more relieved about that than he expected.

They sit like that, neither of them saying anything, but it’s not strained this time, the quiet between them. Mike, at some point, moves his hand so their fingers are linked together, and Jeff likes that better.

“I’m sorry,” Mike says, a while later. His voice is shaky, and Jeff squeezes his fingers. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Or pushed you.”

Jeff thinks it would have hurt him more if Mike hadn’t looked about three seconds from collapsing on himself. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Mike mumbles. He’s careful to keep his voice very low so Jeff matches it.

“It’s gonna happen like that sometimes. I get that,” Jeff says. He looks up to see Gordie jumping on the mattress, trotting over to the space between their bodies and settling himself there. He buts his head into Mike’s hip and purrs, this deep thing that Jeff still has trouble believing a creature his size can produce.

Mike smiles down at him, drags his thumb over his nose and between his eyes. “You shouldn’t have to,” he says.

Jeff doesn’t know what to say to that, not while Mike looks like this, so he just squeezes Mike’s fingers again. He stays quiet after that in case Mike wants to sleep, but he checks the clock on the nightstand and ten minutes later, Mike’s breath still hasn’t evened out. “You don’t wanna sleep?” he murmurs. He could leave if Mike asked him to, though he wouldn’t like it.

“Too loud,” Mike says. He starts petting Gordie in full, heavy strokes that pull Gordie’s single eyelid open wide. Gordie purrs even louder. It’s nice; comforting.

“Let’s try it like this, yeah?” Jeff suggests, letting go of Mike’s hand so he can sit up against the wall.

Mike squints up at him but he moves to rest his head on Jeff’s lap when Jeff pats his thigh. He doesn’t say anything, but Jeff can feel him breathe out when he starts stroking his fingers through Mike’s hair, pressing his fingertips, just a little, into the skin. He thinks it’s working; Mike’s breathing is slowing down and brings one of his arms over Jeff’s knees to grip at his jeans. Jeff always feels a small rush when Mike does that, like he wants to keep Jeff close.

But then Mike’s breath stutters, and he sniffs, not loud but it sounds like that in the quiet room. Jeff’s fingers freeze in his hair for a second, but Mike doesn’t move, and if Mike doesn’t want to bring any attention to it, then it’s not up to Jeff. He starts rubbing his fingers in circles, and Mike seems to like that, but the stutters in his breath get closer together.

Gordie moves to curl into a ball next to Mike’s stomach, like he can tell Mike’s feeling worse. Jeff is starting to like this cat. Begrudgingly.

“Do you think I should retire?” Mike asks and if there was any doubt in Jeff’s mind that he is crying, the way his voice comes out, hoarse and shaky, it settles it.

“Shit, Mike,” Jeff breathes out. He makes his fingers go on, even though they’re not so steady anymore. “That’s not really my decision to make,” he says.

Jeff can feel Mike nod against his thigh. He thinks maybe Mike’s grip on his jeans tightens. “Do _you_ think you should retire?” It’s a loaded question, one that Jeff shouldn’t be asking right now.

Mike is quiet for a long moment, just scratching his fingers along the underside of Gordie’s jaw. Jeff doesn’t push it. “They traded for Brewer. Yesterday,” Mike says, finally.

Jeff already read about that last night. Brewer played center for the Bruins, and Jeff doesn’t need Mike to tell him what the Jackets got him for. “That’s why you didn’t wanna stay here for today?” he asks, and Mike doesn’t say anything, which answers Jeff’s question well enough. “They didn’t waste anytime.”

Mike shrugs. “It’s been two months.” He doesn’t sound upset about it. “They tried to give it time. Give me time.”

“Seven weeks,” Jeff corrects, and his voice comes out sharp.

Mike shrugs again. “I don’t know if I can do it anymore,” he says, quiet enough that Jeff has to strain to hear it. “But I don’t what else I’m supposed to do.”

Hearing that coming from Mike makes Jeff’s heart swell in his chest, trying to fill spaces that are meant for other things, because it hits too close to home. It reminds him, all too vividly, of how he had felt, which he tries his best to forget about, on most days. This is most definitely not most days. “You know – you know you’re not just hockey,” he says, because this is what he needed to hear when he got hurt. And Kaylin didn’t know to tell him, which wasn’t her fault, not knowing what to say was never her fault. But Jeff knows to tell this to Mike now, so he does, because Mike spent his whole conscious life on this, gave hockey all he had, and it’s stopped working out. Again.

 

“Right?” Jeff goes on, gentle, when Mike doesn't answer him.

He feels Mike shiver, try to burry his face in Jeff’s thigh, and Jeff lets him. “It just takes some time, to accept it.” He tries to make it sound simple, easy, even though it’s not, but there’s not sense in complicating things now.

“How long did it take you?” Mike asks, and the words are spoken into Jeff’s leg.

Jeff snorts. “Too long,” he admits, guiltily because he had Kaylin, and he had the kids right there with him. He had his teammates too, those he didn’t outright refuse to see because hockey still felt too raw.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to make the same mistakes?” Mike asks.

Jeff chokes out a laugh. “You’re stubborn. You’re making your mistakes whatever I tell you,” he says.

Mike goes quiet again, and the only sound in the room is Gordie’s purring, still deep and rhythmical. “I guess I always thought I’d know. I’d know enough to stop before this happened,” Mike says abruptly, and it’s like the words are bursting out of him, like they had been weighing down on his chest.

Jeff keeps stroking his hair because everyone thought the same. Patches comes in then, jumps on the bed to curl up their feet, followed by Snuggles, who spreads herself out along Jeff’s knees. The three of them purring together fills up the whole room.

“What if it never gets better?” Mike asks, something like panic seeping into his voice.

Jeff almost says, “of course it’ll get better,” but catches himself. It doesn’t really work like that. It didn’t work like that for him either, because he can walk and he can run, but he can still feel the games he played. “Then,” he says, “Then we’ll deal with it.” He chooses his words carefully, and he doesn’t think it goes unnoticed.

Nothing goes unnoticed with Mike.

Mike squeezes Jeff’s knee, just a hint of pressure. Just to let Jeff know he did notice.

 

 

 

Mike makes an appointment with the doctor the next morning, and asks Jeff is he can drive him there, very deliberately. It takes Jeff a second, but he sees it for what it is, Mike asking for his help, and smiles, says, “Of course.”

Mike is restless before they leave for the appointment, and he’s restless in the car, and he’s restless in the waiting room too. He keeps tapping his feet on the linoleum floor, shifting back and forth, left and right in his seat until Jeff has to put a hand on his knee to get him to stop. It doesn’t really work, but at least it makes half the tapping quiet down. It reminds Jeff of Dylan, at pretty much every visit to the dentist.

“What kind of doctor is this? Like, what does she do?” Jeff asks, because he wants to know, but he wants to distract Mike too.

Mike shrugs. “Tests. She asks me how I’m doing,” he says, which, yeah, that’s really helpful.

It’s only a few more minutes before the woman sitting at the desk in the corner of the room tells Mike he can go in, and Jeff asks him one last time if he’s sure he doesn’t want Jeff to come with him.

Mike shakes his head. “It’s fine. It won’t be long,” he says, even though Jeff is pretty sure Mike knows Jeff’s concern doesn’t lie on the time the appointment will run.

“Okay,” Jeff says, “Take your time.”

It really doesn’t take long, and thirty minutes later they’re walking back to the car, Mike’s lips pressed into a thin line. Jeff has no idea what the doctor said, but it’s pretty clear Mike didn’t appreciate it. Jeff isn’t sure if he should ask.

In the end, he doesn’t have to. “She told me I should go see a therapist,” Mike grumbles, making it sound like it’s the end of the world.

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea,” Jeff says neutrally. “I went to one, after I retired.”

He can feel the look Mike turns to give him.

“And Kaylin and I tried marriage counseling too,” Jeff goes on.

“Should I point out the obvious here?” Mike asks, though it’s weak.

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It works,” he says, because yes, he and Kaylin got divorced, but Jeff likes to think they have a pretty good relationship now. “But, you know, it has to be – it has to be your choice, I guess.”

From the corner of his, eyes Jeff sees Mike open his mouth, then close it. “I did counseling. Before. After the termination,” he says eventually. “But it wasn’t. Like, it wasn’t for hockey. It was,” he trails off, clears his throat. “It was for other stuff.”

Jeff nods. “And did it work?” he asks carefully.

“I guess. I mean, I like to think so,” Mike says, a hint of humor in his voice. “It wasn’t very pleasant though.”

Jeff snorts. “It’s never pleasant,” he says. They’re approaching a yellow light, and he slows the car down.

“Yeah,” Mike says, distracted. When Jeff glances at him, Mike is looking down at his phone. “Hey,” he says suddenly, putting the phone away. “Uhm, lets stop for some gas. It’s almost empty.”

Jeff frowns, and checks the gas meter. “It’s half full,” he says.

“Yeah, but, like, you never know. Come on,” Mike mumbles.

Jeff narrows his eyes at him, but there’s a gas station in their way, and Jeff is not going to fight Mike over how much gas is left in the tank. Jeff obediently fills the tank the rest of the way once they stop at the gas station, but Mike stops him when he tries to get back in the car.

“Can you go get me some candy?” he asks, pointing to the mini-market behind the gas pumps.

“Go get your own candy,” Jeff argues, because last he checked, Mike is fully capable of doing that. It turns out to be the wrong choice though since Mike ends up spending approximately ten minutes in the mini-market, two of which are devoted to him picking out a candy bar, and the other eight to making small talk with the lady behind the counter.

“Can we leave now?” Jeff asks, once they’re both back in the car.

Mike checks his watch. “Yeah, we’re good,” he says. Then, in a relaxed tone and even more relaxed shoulders, he asks, “Hey, wanna go on a date with me?”

“Like, a real one this time. Just the two of us,” he explains when Jeff doesn’t answer right away.

The emphasis Mike puts on the _real_ part makes Jeff’s palms sweat around the wheel. “Sure.” His voice is strained, but that’s not Mike. That’s just Jeff realizing he hasn’t been on a date, a _real_ date, in six months.

Mike nods, satisfied. “Does tonight work for you?” he asks.

Jeff splutters. “What, I don’t even get a 24 hour notice?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “It’s a date, not a drug test,” he says, which is a fair enough point.

Okay, Jeff can be cool about this. “Right,” he says. Dating is like riding a bicycle really, you can’t forget how to do it. Probably. “Right, yeah, tonight is good.”

Jeff catches Mike’s grin from the corner of his eye. It’s good that at least one of them is vaguely confident about this. “Great. Hallway. Seven o’clock,” he says.

Jeff nods a few times too many, but, see, Jeff is a Stanley Cup Champion. He’s got an Olympic Gold. Jeff’s got this shit.

 

 

 

Jeff most definitely has not got this shit. Jeff, in fact, once they get back, briefly contemplates calling his ex wife to ask for dating tips, which is A) pathetic, and B) incredibly likely to get him ridiculed. So Jeff tells himself that he’s not going to do that. He also tells himself that he’s not going to do something as stupid as googling dating advice. He still finds himself on a wikihow page with the ten steps to the perfect date a little while later, but that’s completely unintentional and also something he’d rather not talk about.

 

 

 

When his watch says it’s six thirty, Jeff moves to stand behind the door with his ear half pressed to it and half not, because he’s still got some dignity. But he’s already showered and dressed and he doesn’t want to go downstairs too early, so he stands there, hoping that he’ll be able to hear Mike come out of his room.

It takes twenty-five minutes and a neck cramp, but Jeff eventually does. He counts to ten though, before going out, because see above: dignity. Obviously. He finds Mike at the bottom of the stairs, pacing up and down the hall, and when Mike sees Jeff, he smiles, the kind of smile that makes his eyes crinkle, and Jeff’s stomach does _things_ , fluttery things.

They stand like that for a few seconds until Mike shakes his head and tells Jeff to hurry up because they’re going to be late. Mike likes going everywhere about an hour too early, so Jeff doesn’t really trust that, but he goes to put on his shoes anyways.

“And gloves. And a scarf, and a hat, too,” Mike says, as Jeff’s reaching for his coat. “It’s a little cold.”

Jeff narrows his eyes. “Are we gonna eat somewhere?” he asks, suspicious.

“Nope, we’re eating later,” Mike says. He hands Jeff a pair of gloves and a blue jackets winter hat. It’s got a pom-pom and everything. Jeff reluctantly puts it on because he doesn’t want his ears to freeze off.

Mike grins at him in an all too satisfied manner.

Jeff scowls. “Happy?”

“Very,” Mike says, smiling. “You look very cute.”

Jeff scowls harder, trying to fight off a smile. This is his pride in jeopardy here.

Jeff follows Mike outside, though Mike, instead of continuing straight ahead, towards the street, changes direction and heads towards the back of the house instead. “Uh, Mike?” Jeff tries, because he’s fairly certain that there is nothing back there that could count as a dating spot.  

Mike doesn’t reply, doesn’t so much acknowledge this, just keeps going. Jeff catches up, feet sinking into the snow that’s gathered over the grass.

Mike just leads him to the back yard, where everything pitch black and covered in snow, and Jeff starts to mildly freak out. “Mike?” he tries again, watches his breath turn white in front of him. “Is everything okay?”

Mike waves him off. “Yes, yes, everything if fine. Come here.” He gestures at the swing that’s sitting on the porch, keeps looking at Jeff until Jeff huffs and sits down on it.

When Jeff turns around to look at him, Mike is messing with the light switches next to the kitchen door. He flicks on a couple and suddenly the whole yard comes alive, tiny little Christmas lights lighting up everywhere, nestled in the trees and wrapped around the branches and the trunks, thrown over the bushes and the flowers. Even wrapped around the railway and down the bars surrounding the deck, up the columns on either side of the stairs. Jeff looks around him, and there are lights decorating the fence too, covering the whole perimeter of the house.

He stares for a full minute, because when did Mike even have the time to do this. He snaps out of it when Mike clears his throat, turns to look at him. “Do you, uhm, do you like it?” Mike asks, a little shy.

Mike is not what Jeff would call a hopeless romantic. He goes into spurs, that’s for sure, Jeff has seen it enough times, but he just didn’t think he’d get to be in the receiving end of one. Looking at Mike though, the way he’s glancing between Jeff and his feet, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, Jeff thinks he probably should have. “It’s great,” he says, and his voice comes out weak.

Mike breathes out, and Jeff can see the tension bleeding out of him. “Oh, that’s good,” he says. He ducks inside the house without saying anything else and comes back with a heating fan. He clearly has put a lot of thought into this. He turns it on and rotates it so it’s aimed directly at where Jeff is sitting. “Just a sec,” he says, hurries back inside.

He returns with what Jeff is pretty sure is marshmallow roaster this time and a really big bag of marshmallows. He’s also holding two long sticks. He puts everything on the table in front of them and sits down next to Jeff.

“Wow,” Jeff says, more than a little impressed.

“I’m done now, don’t worry,” Mike says. He stills looks nervous, and Jeff really hates that, so he places a hand on Mike’s leg.

“It really is great,” he says.

Mike nods. “I just thought, I mean, I couldn’t do a restaurant, not really, or, I don’t know, a movie or whatever.” He shrugs, and he looks a little self-conscious, like he’s asking Jeff settle for this.

“No, uhm, I really, really like this,” Jeff says, even though he can feel himself blushing with it, but it’s worth it.

Mike smiles at him, and Jeff stares. Mike breaks off first, laughing, and he grabs the sticks off the table. He hands one to Jeff and keeps one for himself. They each stab a marshmallow on their stick, and then hold them over the roaster.

“When did you manage to do all this anyway?” Jeff asks, because it looks great, it looks fucking amazing, but the thought of Mike standing on top of a ladder to put the little raindrop lights on the edge of the roof fills Jeff with a paralyzing sort of anxiety.

Mike shrugs, and Jeff feels it where their shoulders are touching. “When we went to the doctor’s. I had the rookies do it,” he says, rotating his stick a little.

Jeff raises his eyebrows at him. That would explain how squirrely Mike was about stopping for gas. “You made the rookies decorate your yard?” he asks, and can’t help laughing a little as he does.

Mike shrugs again, grumbles something about being a seasoned veteran and a thousand NHL games, sounding, objectively, like a cranky old man.

Jeff laughs at him. “They did a pretty good job though,” he says.

“Well, Joey was overseeing the operation,” Mike says, “But yeah, they did a pretty good job.” He’s pleased, and a little proud, and Jeff is not surprised.

They don’t really talk about anything substantial. Mike asks Jeff about Dylan and Chris and Jeff tells him about Kaylin taking them skiing and Chris inevitably getting a chipped tooth out of it, because he’s Chris and he managed to stumble and fall face first into his ski pole. They don’t talk about hockey, or say anything else about Mike’s team, and Jeff’s okay with that if Mike prefers it that way. Instead they roast marshmallows, and look at the blinking Christmas lights, and find ways to crowd even closer to each other even though there’s hardly any room between them to begin with.

In a lot of ways, it’s just like the two of them hanging out as friends, like the hundred and one times they’ve done in the past, except for how its completely different.

Jeff looks up to see Mike licking sugar off his lips, and he has to swallow around the sudden tightness in his throat. He’s not even sure Mike is doing it purposefully. “What?” Mike asks, when he sees him looking, so mot definitely not on purpose. Just accidentally driving Jeff to the walls.

“Nothing,” Jeff says quickly, probably too quickly. He waits until his own marshmallow is done roasting, crispy and a little brown around the edges, and takes it off the fire. He blows on it until it doesn’t look so hot anymore and then takes off his gloves and pinches a small piece off the stick.

“Hey,” he says, and when Mike turns to look at him, Jeff holds the piece of marshmallow out to him.

Mike’s eyes darken, his lips part. It’s cold out here, so Mike’s cheeks are already a deep red, but even if it wasn’t, even if they were inside, Jeff thinks Mike would blush now. He knows they’d both blush.

Jeff moves the marshmallow to Mike’s lips, and Mike’s tongue darts out to lick his thumb. His lips catch on Jeff’s fingers. Mike makes a sound around the marshmallow as he chews, and it probably shouldn’t be so hot, but it is, and Jeff is cutting off another piece to give to him before he knows it. This time Mike’s lips linger, and so do Jeff’s fingers, and when Jeff pulls his hand back it feels like the temperature between them has skyrocketed.

By the time they’re finished, Mike’s marshmallow is scorched, unsalvageable, and Jeff can’t look away from him. He puts his stick down on the table and leans in to kiss him, tasting the sugar from Mike’s lips, and from his own, and feeling the way they stick together and drag against each other. It gets hot really fast, or maybe it isn’t so fast with how long Jeff has been wanting this, both of them breathing hard against each other, their breaths puffing out into the cold air.

Jeff takes his clean hand and puts it on the back of Mike’s neck, trying to drag him closer, but there’s no space and too many layers between them. It’s frustrating, but it’s good at the same time, and Jeff makes a noise when Mike’s teeth dig into his lip, pushes closer.

“Hey, hey,” Mike pulls back to say. His lips are even redder than before, his voice rough. “You wanna, ugh, you can say no, but. You wanna go – ”

“Inside,” Jeff interrupts, because Mike is stumbling and Jeff really wants to go inside.

Mike chuckles. “Yeah. Yeah, inside,” he says, just barely brushing their lips together. “On a bed, maybe. I think that’d be pretty nice.”

Jeff nods, he nods a few times, and he couldn’t pretend this was buddies handing out even if he wanted to now.

Mike gets up and turns off the fan, but leaves the Christmas lights on. It’s a lot warmer inside, and they start peeling off their clothes in the hallway until they’re both left in just their jeans and sweaters.

Jeff follows Mike up the stairs and into his room, sinks down on the mattress when Mike pushes at his shoulders. He looks up at Mike as he takes his shirt off, stares, a little, at the flex of his muscles, and then remembers that he can touch too. He reaches out and settles his hands on Mike’s stomach, wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him closer.

Mike climbs on the bed after Jeff, straddling his hips. He’s careful to keep most of his weight on his own knees, which Jeff can’t help but notice, and it makes him feel a little weird, but also warm, deep down in his stomach. Mike leans in to press his lips into the hinge of Jeff’s jaw, the skin behind his ear, and Jeff shudders, his arms tightening around Mike, involuntarily. Mike smiles into his neck, does it again when Jeff cranes his neck to the side to give him more room.

By the time Mike turns to his lips, Jeff is shivery mess, goosebumps breaking all over his skin even though he feels too warm in his clothes. He can feel how turned on he’s getting, and then Mike starts grinding down on his lap, and he thinks Mike’s getting there too. It’s not a very good angle, doesn’t allow for a lot of contact, but it’s still enough.

Jeff lets his hands move along Mike’s legs, his claves and his thighs, his ass, feel his muscles work as he rocks down to meet Jeff. His nails rake across Mike’s back once, accidentally, and Mike makes a noise into Jeff’s mouth, choked off and breathy, so Jeff keeps at it. He thinks about the red marks that Mike is going to have on his back after this and thrusts his hips up, as much as he can.

“Okay, okay,” Mike mutters, pulling back. He’s flushed all over his face and down his chest, breathing heavily. “Come on,” he says, and gets up.

Jeff wants to complain, but before he gets a chance to, Mike’s pulling off Jeff’s shirt and sinking down on his knees, and Jeff chokes on nothing. Mike’s fingers go to Jeff’s belt, the buttons of his jeans, and Jeff raises his hips when Mike prompts him to.

Mike wraps his fingers around Jeff’s dick, strokes him a few times until Jeff is all the way hard, although it doesn’t take much. He looks up at Jeff as he moves closer and takes him into his mouth, which really, _really_ shouldn’t be this hot but really, _really_ is. Jeff has to strain to keeps his hips still, strain even harder the further down Mike goes. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he settles for wrapping one around Mike’s arm and the moving the other one to his hair.

Jeff realizes, when Mike swallows around him without even breaking his rhythm, that Mike is pretty good at this. Mike looks like he knows it too, if the easy confidence that he sucks Jeff off with is any indication. “Fuck, you’re good at this,” Jeff breathes out without really meaning too. 

He thinks Mike might laugh at that, Jeff can feel the vibrations of it. His fingers tighten, instinctively, around Mike’s hair, and that’s the first time Mike’s rhythm stutters, his eyes fluttering shut. He moves one of his hands off Jeff and to his own lap, starts rubbing himself off through his pants, and Jeff’s gets it pretty quickly. He keeps his fingers there, twisting them in time with Mike’s mouth.

Jeff feels his breath getting squeezed out of him when Mike swallows him down all the way, and he has to look down, at Mike’s throat, at the way his eyes are squeezed shut but his hand keeps moving. Jeff reaches out to place his hand on Mike’s shoulder, moving it slowly until it’s resting at the bottom of his neck. He strokes his fingers over Mike’s throat, feels the strain there, feels it when Mike swallows again.

Jeff has to warn Mike then, because he can’t hold himself off anymore. Mike pulls back, enough so that he can swallow when Jeff comes, and then the rest of the way off. He sits back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and starts unbuckling his jeans.

Jeff’s brain still feels a little like jello, but he gets it together enough to drag Mike on the bed with him. Mike’s knees creak when he stretches his legs out, this deep, crackly sound that makes Jeff wince. “It’s okay. My knees are still pretty good,” Mike says when he sees Jeff’s face.

Jeff blinks at Mike’s voice, hoarse and definitely – definitely like he was just sucking dick. He blinks at Mike’s lips too, at how red they are, and, when Mike kicks his pants the rest of the way off, at Mike’s cock, hard against his stomach. It’s all things that Jeff never though he’d find sexy, but here he is, pushing Mike to lie on his back so Jeff can kiss his way along his neck, down his chest, his stomach.

“You, you don’t have to,” Mike chokes out when Jeff gets to his dick.

Jeff stops, crawls up the bed again to kiss him because he wants to, he wants to a lot, which is more than a little scary. “Just a warning, it’s probably going to suck,” he mumbles into Mike’s ear because he doesn’t want Mike to be disappointed. Then, “I mean, in a different way.”

Mike laughs. He puts his hands on either side of Jeff’s face and pulls him in for a kiss. “I highly doubt that,” he says, which Jeff is pretty sure is a lie and Mike is only saying for Jeff’s benefit.  

Still, Jeff tries, although Mike feels a lot bigger than Jeff expected. Jeff chokes on it, a few times, which is frustrating and makes his eyes water. He can feel Mike’s thighs trembling under his arms with the effort to keep still, Mike’s fingers stroking through his hair, patient in a way Jeff didn’t think to associate with Mike up until this moment.

Jeff’s jaw starts hurting too soon after he started, and he feels a little cheated, because Mike made it look so easy. It’s not though, but Jeff likes it too, a lot more that he expected, and that just makes the whole thing more confusing. He likes how hot Mike feels on his tongue, how Mike lets him know whenever he does something good. He likes Mike’s heavy breathing from above him, and the feel of Mike’s fingertips along his scalp.

He still has to pull back after what he’s pretty sure is only a couple of minutes to rub at his jaw and take a few deep breaths. “Sorry,” he mumbles, when he sees Mike looking down at him.

Mike blinks and starts shaking his head. “No, no,” he says quickly. “You’re great, really great, just.” He takes Jeff’s hand and wraps it around the base of his dick. “Try like this too,” he suggests with a soft smile.

Jeff tries again, and it is better like this, when he doesn’t have to focus so much on taking Mike deeper. Mike keeps talking too, gentle encouragements that Jeff feels in shivers down to his knees. “That’s it, baby, that’s so good,” he murmurs when Jeff licks around the head of his cock, and heat curls in Jeff’s gut at the endearment. He thinks, more than anything, that’s the most surprising part about all this, his reaction to Mike calling him “baby”.

It takes longer for Mike, but after a few minutes, Jeff can feel the muscles of his thighs tightening. Mike gets out, “Jeff, I’m gonna,” his stomach trembling with it, and Jeff pulls back in time to catch Mike’s come on his jaw and down his neck, a little.

Mike’s chest is heaving, but he gives Jeff a guilty look. “Sorry about that,” he says, and his voice sounds even worse now.

Jeff shrugs. He stretches out on the other side of the bed to grab the tissues but Mike stops him, drags him into a bruising kiss. Jeff is breathing hard by the time Mike pulls back, and Mike is too.

He still has to clean up his face though, and he isn’t sure what to do after that, so he just lies there, on the other side of Mike’s mattress. In LA, Mike hadn’t looked particularly enthusiastic about cuddling after they’d had sex, and the circumstances might have been different, but Jeff doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

Neither of them says anything for the longest time, until Mike asks, “Are you gonna freak out?”

Jeff turns his head to look at him but Mike’s looking at the ceiling. “No,” he says. He thinks he should be upset that Mike still doesn’t trust him, but Mike sounds too scared for that. Jeff settles for asking, “Why do you say that?”

Mike shrugs into the sheets. “I don’t know,” he says, then, “You’re kinda far away.”

Jeff blinks. Breaths out. Doesn’t roll his eyes only because Mike is very obviously serious. “I’m not gonna freak out,” he says, shifting closer, and then closer still, until their shoulders are touching. “Really. I watched gay porn and I’m fine.”

That makes Mike laugh, his shoulders shaking with it, which is fine since it was what Jeff was aiming for. He rolls onto his side so he’s facing Jeff, and Jeff does that same. “So? What did you think of it?” Mike asks.

“Of the porn?” Jeff raises his eyebrows and Mike nods. “Well, I’m glad you don’t have a ten inch dick, I’ll tell you that much,” Jeff mutters.

Mike laughs harder at that, half buried into the pillow and half in Jeff’s face.

There’s more space between them this way, but Jeff is pretty sure he’s reading tis right when he shuffles closer. Mike sobers up pretty quickly, and he says, “You know, if you wanted to freak out a little, that wouldn’t be bad or anything.” His tone is very careful, and he brings his hand up to Jeff’s face, curves it along his jaw. “I mean, this was a lot that we just did.”

Jeff nods. He feels it too. “I think I’m good for now,” he says.

“Okay,” Mike says, “Just so you know, I’m not always like that, so romantic with the dates.” He looks away for a moment, running his tongue over his lips. “I just wanted to this right.”

“Pulling the big guns out just for me?” Jeff jokes. His voice comes out quieter than he’d meant, but he thinks it fits better this way.

Mike laughs. “Eh, you deserve it,” he says, meeting Jeff’s eyes again.

“You’ve always been so cool with this,” Jeff says after a moment. He has to focus his eyes on Mike’s shoulder to get the words out.

“With you and I?” Mike asks, frowning.

“Guys,” Jeff corrects. “Being into guys.” He’s nervous, and he tries to hide it, but he’s pretty sure Mike can tell anyways. Mike moves his hand to his shoulder, strokes his palm down Jeff’s side until his fingers are resting on Jeff’s waist, warm.

“I haven’t though,” he says, and that surprises Jeff into looking at him. “I like to think I am now, but it wasn’t always like this. It takes time, it’s not like a swtich.”

It’s strange hearing that from Mike, but on second thought, maybe it shouldn’t be. Jeff didn’t see Mike with a guy until they were twenty-seven, which doesn’t mean Mike was never with a guy until then, but Jeff still remembers how awkward Mike had been that night.

Jeff can feel Mike’s fingers stroking over his lower back, an almost there touch. It’s comforting as much as it makes Jeff shiver. Jeff presses closer, lets their ankles tangle together near the bottom of the bed. “I’m sorry. I kinda ruined the mood,” Jeff says. He feels bad for it, because this time was supposed to be better than the first one.

Mike leans in to brush their lips together. “It’s okay. I’d rather you tell me these things than not,” he says. It’s honest enough that it makes Jeff’s stomach twist. He nods.

“I’m not freaking out though,” Jeff says. He knows that much. This is not what last time felt like, there’s no crippling uncertainty weighing him down. “I want to be here,” he goes on.

Mike smiles. It’s still soft and still half buried into the sheet. “You know,” he starts, and his voice is quieter than before. “You’re the first guy I ever kissed.”

“Wow, I’m sorry.” Jeff winces at the memory, the two of them drunk and Jeff pushing Mike away. “That was a horrible kiss. I was drunk and my breath probably reeked,” he says, because it’s easer to say that than any of the other things.

Mike chuckles. “Yeah, well. You’ve more than made up for it,” he says, voice hoarse in the way that Jeff has come to associate with Mike flirting.

Jeff grins and rolls on his back, dragging Mike on top of him. They kiss, Mike’s weight pressing Jeff into the mattress, his muscles and his bones hard against Jeff’s skin. It makes Jeff’s heart speed up, but it doesn’t scare him the way it used, all the difference in the way their bodies fit together.

 

 

 

It feels too soon when Jeff has to leave, but he knows he can’t stay any longer, not if he wants to have any time with the kids during what’s left of Winter Break. Mike knows too, and he doesn’t begrudge Jeff, just comes into Jeff’s room when Jeff’s packing his things and asks if he needs anything.

“No, I’m good.” Jeff shakes his head. “I’ll just be a few more minutes.”

Mike nods and pushes himself off from where he’d been leaning against the doorframe. “Okay, I’ll be downstairs,” he says, and gives Jeff an awkward wave before leaving.

“You know, I could convince Joey to drive you if you want,” Mike suggests when Jeff joins him in the kitchen a little while later. “There’s not game today.”

Jeff frowns. He and Ryan might be on better terms, technically, but certainly not good enough to be spending thirty minutes in a car together. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Jeff says.

Mike’s shoulders slump, just for a moment, and then he asks Jeff if he wants anything to eat. It comes out stilted, like Mike just wants to fill the quiet between them.

“No, really, I’m fine.” Jeff smiles. “Come on, sit down,” he says, because Mike’s twitching all over the place, and Jeff can see that there’s something on his mind. Probably the same thing that’s on Jeff’s mind.

Mike sighs, but he comes to sits across from Jeff at the table. They’re quiet for a few seconds, and then Jeff hears purring coming from under the table. He pushes his chair back to look and sees Patches weaving his way through Mike’s legs, pressing against his calves and making tiny satisfied cat noises as he does so. Mike keeps his legs stock still for Patches to work with.

Mike is the one to breach the subject first. “So,” he says, “What now?” he sounds nervous, and he’s looking down at the bottle of water in his hands, at the label he’s peeling off of it.

Jeff is used to following Mike’s lead more often than not, because Mike seemed to know what he was doing. He doesn’t mind being the one with the plan for this though. “I had fun,” he says, “I mean, I like being here. With you.” Because this is what they’re talking about.

Mike’s breathing is steady when he starts tearing the label up into tiny pieces. “Yeah,” he says, drawing it out. “But, you know, we live in different parts of the country.”

It’s not like Jeff had managed to miss that part until now. “I’m aware of that,” he says, “And Skype is a great invention,” he reasons, which makes Mike look up from his hands long enough to roll his eyes at Jeff.

He’s quiet for a few seconds, but Jeff thinks he’s working up to something, so he doesn’t rush him. “You could be with someone who also lives in LA though,” he finally says, and the words are mumbled. “Someone who isn’t, you know.” He glances up to meet Jeff’s waves and gestures halfheartedly at himself. “A mess.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows as far as they can go. “You’re not a mess,” he argues.

Mike gives him a very critical look at that.

“Okay, a little bit of a mess. No more than when I met you,” he concedes, and Mike huffs.

Jeff isn’t sure what to say to the rest of Mike’s objections. In the end, he shrugs. “And. Whatever, it’s too bad I don’t want any of that then.” It’s not easy to admit that, and he has to fight with himself to get the words out, but he thinks it’s worth it.

Mike just looks at him for a minute, two minutes, then leans back in his chair. He breathes out through his nose, relief washing over his face. “Okay.” He nods, then says again, “Okay.”

“I was thinking,” Jeff starts, now that they’re on the same page. “Maybe get through the rest of the season and see where that takes us?” He thinks about it again, and realizes he doesn’t know how much longer Mike will have to be counting the time in games and seasons. “Or just until the next time we can visit each other,” he amends.

Mike nods. He starts tapping the edge of the table closest to him until Patches jumps on it, and then he hooks his and Jeff’s ankles together under the table. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You’re such a softie,” Jeff mumbles, as Mike digs his fingers into Patches neck.

Mike kicks him, lightly. “I know you let them sleep on your bed, shut up.”

 

 

 

The first thing Jeff does after he gets back to LA is take Dylan and Chris to the aquarium so Chris can pick out his fish. It goes about as well as expected, considering how Chris is faced with a considerably wide variety of fish to take home. By this Jeff means that Chris feels the need to stop in front of every fish talk and thoroughly inspect the fish, gently tap on the glass to get their attention, and then make fishy faces at them. Jeff thinks it’s kind of cute, but ultimately time consuming, since they end up spending approximately two hours gazing at fish.

The employee who comes to help them—his name tag reads “Rob”—is helpful enough though, and he tells Chris the name of every fish he likes with undeterred enthusiasm. Jeff follows them down the isle as Rob shows Chris various cold water and warm water fish, keeping an eye on Dylan at the same time, who has spent the last several minutes craning his neck left and right in front of a tank full of crabs. Jeff will not be surprised if he refuses to eat shellfish ever again.

Finally, just as Jeff starts losing hope of them ever leaving here, Chris halts in front of one of the fish tanks. This is one hosts small, black fish, and Chris has to get on his toes and balance with Jeff’s help to get a good look at them. He looks impressed though, and he says, decisive, “I like this one.”

Jeff bites his lip. “Are you sure?” he asks, tentative. He glances around them and points to a different aquarium, this one filled with brightly colored fish, their scales shiny with shades of purple and yellow. “How about those? Those are nice looking. They have colorful, like, flaps,” he says, pointing to them.

Chris shakes his head. “No,” he says, “I like this one. What’s this one called?” he asks Rob.

“That’s a Black Molly,” Rob tells him, and doesn’t sound even slightly perplexed by that.

Jeff narrows his eyes. “Really,” he asks.

Rob nods cheerfully. “Yeah. Black Mollies are warm water fish, and they live up to six years,” he says.

Jeff is still unconvinced, but Chris has made up his mind. “Okay then,” he says.

After that they have to assemble a bowl, with purple sand and fake vegetation and everything. Really, this fish’s home is going to be classier than Jeff’s first apartment.

“Molly deserves the best, dad,” Chris tells him.

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “You named her already?”

Chris nods. “I think Molly fits. Or do you think Fisher is better?” he asks, very seriously.

“We call on of the guys on the team Fisher,” Dylan pitches in. “He’s not very nice.”

“Molly it is then.” Jeff nods and tells Rob to throw in another set of fake rocks for Molly’s home.

 

 

 

Mike demands pictures when Jeff tells him about it. After Jeff provides them, he says, “Wow, it’s really black,” because he’s observant like that. “What kind of a fish is it?”

“It’s a Black Molly,” Jeff mumbles, and sits back down.

Mike’s lips are squeezed together. It’s pretty clear he’s trying not to laugh. “A Black Molly?”

“Yep,” Jeff says, “And Chris named her Molly, so.”

Mike’s face softens. “Aw, that’s so cute,” he says, and his eyebrows are twisted a little like he really believes it.

Jeff agrees, but that fish still creeps him out.

 

 

 

The next day, Mike calls Jeff to complain about his annoying neighbors, who keep knocking on his door to tell him to stop feeding the neighborhood’s strays. “They even gave me a signed petition, you know? With the names of the people who agreed to it,” he grumbles, clearly unimpressed with his neighbors’ antics.

Jeff can see where his neighbors are coming from. “Wow, that is so far fetched, Mike, really,” he says.

He thinks Mike rolls his eyes at him—it certainly sounds like that, even through the phone. “Well, whatever, they can’t tell me who to feed,” he says. He sounds very put upon and it makes Jeff laugh.

“Did you tell them that?” he asks.

Mike scoffs. “No,” he says, like that’s obvious. “I told them thank you and then waited until they left before putting out another bowl.”

That sounds like something Mike would do. “They’re gonna chase you out,” Jeff mumbles.

Mike says, “Let them try.”

 

 

 

They don’t call each other every day, but it’s pretty close to that. Some days they stick to texting, and other days Jeff’s calls go unanswered until Mike sends him a sick emoji, the little face with the surgical mask.

It feels strange at first, because it’s been a while since Mike and he were last like this, but it’s easy enough to fall back into old patterns. Jeff sends Mike pictures of Molly chilling in her fancy house, and Mike sends back pictures of his cats glaring into the camera, more pictures of them eating, and then a few pictures of them sleeping. Jeff sends Mike a video of Chris and Dylan fighting over the remote, mostly because Jeff finds the arguments they use to support their cases pretty funny, and gets back a two minute video of Gordie purring, his single eyelid twitching as he sleeps.

One time, Mike sends Jeff a picture of him lying on his couch, shirtless, Snuggles curled into a ball high on his chest, and it just makes Jeff ache, suddenly, with how much he misses him. It’s only been a week since he left Columbus, but he still spends a full minute staring at the picture. He ends up saving it in a folder on his phone, one that is password protected because kids are nosy people.

He doesn’t know what to send in response though, except the obvious _I miss you_ , so he just sends that. He holds his breath then, because Jeff doesn’t usually do this, not with Mike, they don’t do this.

He gets Mike’s response a few seconds later, before he asphyxiates, _me too_.

 

 

 

_are you busy_ , Mike texts him one afternoon.

Jeff sends back, _no_ , and waits for his phone to ring because that’s what Mike usually asks him before calling. 

Mike doesn’t call this time though, just sends Jeff a picture. It’s a picture of him lying down, Jeff thinks it’s on his bed this time, and he’s shirtless again, but there is something distinctly different about this picture. For one, there are no cats in the camera range, but for another, Mike’s chest is flushed, one of his feet planted on the mattress and his legs splayed wide. His hand is resting on his stomach, and the veins there look raised, the muscles strong.

Jeff is still trying to process that when he gets the next picture, almost identical to the first, only now Mike’s hand has moved from his stomach into his shorts. Jeff stares, then stares some more. He swallows around the dryness in his throat.

Mike sends, _your turn_ , and if Jeff had any doubts about what this was then they’re all gone now.

Jeff thinks about it for a moment. He hasn’t done anything like this in a really long time, since before his divorce, but he keeps looking at the screen of his phone and feeling himself blush with it. He shrugs, mentally, and hurries to his room, locking the door behind him even though it’s just him and Molly, and Molly is too busy hiding behind her fake vegetation to bother with Jeff. He sends Mike, _just a sec_ , because it’s been a couple of minutes since Mike’s last message and Jeff doesn’t want him to worry, and shucks his pants, pulls off his shirt before lying down on the bed.

It takes him a couple of minutes to get there, but it’s not difficult, not with the pictures Mike sent staring Jeff right in the face. Once he’s hard, he wraps his hand around his cock over his boxers and snaps Mike a picture of that, which is a little more forward. Mike sends back a picture of his own, the flushed head of his cock peeking out through the waistband of his boxers, so maybe Jeff wasn’t so forward after all.

Jeff drags his underwear under his hips and starts jerking himself off, thinks about Mike being here, next to him, his labored breath filling up the empty space of Jeff’s bedroom as he tries to get himself off. He thinks about Mike’s weight on him, his hand around Jeff’s dick, the two of them kissing and biting at each other’s lips. He takes a picture of himself like that, and it comes out blurry, with his hand still moving quickly, but he sends it anyway.

He’s not disappointed when Mike sends back a similar picture, his hand a blur around his dick and his hip thrust up off the bed, just slightly. Jeff looks at it and imagines Mike on his own bed, imagines thinking about Jeff and thinking about the same things as Jeff, and that does it for him. His muscles tighten, his toes curling into the sheets, and he comes, half into his hand and half on his stomach. He just breathes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath. He reaches out for the tissues, on the nightstand, then thinks better of it and uses his clean hand to take a picture of himself like that and send it to Mike.

Mike doesn’t respond right away, but Jeff doesn’t worry, just cleans himself up and pulls his boxers back on. His clothes are still at the foot of the bed, and he feels chilly now, but in the end he just settles for pulling the blanket over him.

Mike calls instead of texting, which Jeff supposes is for the best considering how lazy he’s feeling. “Hi,” he says, out of breath and a little sweet, which still surprises Jeff.

“Hi,” he says back, and they both laugh dumbly at themselves. “You know, people usually start with something like, what are you wearing,” Jeff says.

“Pfft,” Mike waves him off. “That’s for amateurs,” he announces proudly.

Jeff laughs into his pillow. “Yeah, cause you’re a seasoned pro at this,” he mumbles.

“Hey,” Mike says, pretending to be offended. At least, Jeff thinks he’s pretending. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

Jeff remembers the pictures and feels his chest tighten all over again. It takes him a few seconds to get out, “No. No, you didn’t.”

Mike mumbles something that sounds like, “That’s what I thought”, sounding all too pleased with himself.

Jeff hears a pitiful meow then, followed by familiar purring. “Dude,” he says, “Dude. Are you cuddling your cats?” he asks, torn between jealous and grossed out.

“What? The blankets are between us. It’s not sexual,” Mike is quick to say, which doesn’t make Jeff feel any better.

“You’re shameless,” he accuses and gets a scoff in return.

“Well, if you were here I wouldn’t have to cuddle Snuggles,” he says.

Jeff will never get over Mike saying “Snuggles” in a serious context, but that still smarts. “Ouch,” he says.

Mike sighs. “I know,” he starts, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. It just sucks.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jeff says, long and drawn out.

 

 

 

Jeff put the voucher for the online courses up on the fridge as soon as he came back form Columbus. He sees it every time he opens and closed the fridge now, he knows it’s there. It’s not until he wakes up one morning and spends three solid minutes looking at it, a chorus of “what do I have to lose, what do I have to lose” running through his head, that he decides to finally use it.

The orientation test that he takes has one hundred and twenty questions, which is about one hundred more questions than Jeff was prepared for. Granted, they’re multiple choice, but that still means Jeff has to answer one hundred and twenty questions of things he’s never really bothered thinking about.

The results are based on percentages, which surprises him, even though it probably shouldn’t. Jeff expected a definite answer, but what he gets instead is 88% Business based careers, 67% Education and Training careers, and a whole lot of other careers that Jeff never thought to associate with himself. He’s gotten this far though, and a few classes won’t hurt anyone, which is what he keeps telling himself.

There are a lot of courses to choose from, but Jeff doesn’t want to be overly ambitious and then fail spectacularly, so he signs up for the minimum number of classes under the Business column and chooses the closest start date, which is three weeks away. That leaves him with plenty of time to order the books that he needs and call Kaylin, because Kaylin has actually done this already.

“Wow, you’re actually going for it,” Kaylin says, sounding impressed, after Jeff’s asked her a myriad of questions, ranging from “How do I meet people?”, because some of those courses have in-class requirements, to “How do I not fail the class?”

“Well, yeah. I already signed up, I can’t back out now,” Jeff reasons.

Kaylin hums. “I guess Richie is kinda good for you,” she says, and that’s definitely surprise in her tone.

“You thought he wasn’t?” Jeff asks, slowly. He’s not worried about her answer, not really, but he still cares about what it’s going to be.

“No. No, it’s just good that you’re doing this,” she says honestly.

After they hang up, Jeff texts Mike to let him know he’s using his gift, finally, and gets back a series of thumbs up emojis and clapping hands.

He just hopes he’s good for Mike too.

 

 

 

Jeff learns about Mike starting to train on ice from the internet. There’s a short article on it on the Jackets’ website, just a couple of paragraphs, and some pictures too of Mike hanging around in the locker room with the team. Mike himself never says anything to Jeff, despite of Jeff’s efforts to not-so-discreetly get him to talk about it. Jeff even tries to trick Mike into admitting it by calling when he knows Mike won’t be able to pick up and then asking him about it, but that doesn’t work either. Mike just makes up some excuse about his phone dying and simply changes the subject.

The thing is, Jeff knows what Mike’s doing. Mike is trying to do this all by himself, to see if he _can_ do it in the first place. If he can play hockey again.

The fact that he knows though doesn’t change the reality of him being almost an entire country away. It doesn’t change how he can only work with what Mike chooses to give him, and it doesn’t change how Mike gets when he has his mind set on something either. So Jeff doesn’t push, because he doesn’t think this is something he should get to do over the phone.

 

 

 

When Mike calls Jeff a few days later, and, after saying hello, blurts out, “I think I’m retiring,” Jeff wishes he _had_ pushed.

It’s not the time for that though, so Jeff blinks, sits down on the couch. “Yeah?”

Mike is quiet for a second. Then he says, “Yeah,” and his voice is breathy.

“Did something happen?” Jeff asks, and tries to sound cool about it. He remembers the piece of paper taped on the wall above the alarm, and he remembers how beaten down Mike had looked when Jeff picked him up from practice that day. He remembers all the things that could have gone wrong, though Mike is here, technically, talking to him, so they probably didn’t.

“No, not really,” Mike says, and Jeff moves the phone away from his face for a moment so he can breathe out.

“The doctors then,” he prompts. “Did they say something?” Mike was thinking about it, he was seriously thinking about retiring, but he sounds sure now. Jeff doesn’t know what could have changed his mind so decisively.

“They didn’t have to, you know?” Mike sighs, and Jeff waits for him to go on. “I couldn’t even balance on my skates this morning.” He chuckles, dry. “And it’s probably not gonna get better, or at least not good enough that I can get back.” He sounds tired but so much more collected than Jeff imagined, than Jeff himself did when he was in Mike’s position.

“And, three cups. I don’t need anymore,” Mike goes on, “I think I’m done.”

“Have you told anyone else?” Jeff asks.

“No, not yet. I think I’m gonna call my parents. I should probably call my parents,” Mike says. He sounds distracted, like he hadn’t gotten that far into his planning. “I should call my agent too.”

“Yeah. Maybe make a list,” Jeff suggests.

“That’s a good idea, I’ll make a list.”

Jeff can’t think of anything substantial to add to the conversation, for all that he’s been there himself. He can hear Mike’s heavy breathing over the line, just a little shaky, and Jeff is in another _state_. “Okay. Is there anything – anything I can do?” he asks.

Mike chuckles again. “Nah, Cartsy, you’re good,” he says; Jeff thinks he might be smiling. “I think I’m just gonna sleep.”

Jeff nods. “Is there someone with you?”

“I’ll be fine, Jeff, don’t worry,” Mike says, indulging.

“Okay,” Jeff says, “But I’ll call you later. And you know, I’m here, so.” He sounds awkward about it, but he’s pretty sure it’s all the same to Mike.

“Thanks,” Mike mumbles. “Talk to you later.”

Jeff hangs up, spends a solid minute looking at the carpet beneath his socks. He gets up then, very decisively crosses the hallway to the second guestroom, the one that no one uses, the one that’s locked most of the time because the door handle is broken and the door keeps swinging open.

The blinds are always drawn here so he has to turn the light on to see. It’s mostly storage, some boxes from the old house that Jeff hasn’t bothered unpacking because he’s never needed the things inside; some of the kids’ things from when they were younger, like a crib and a stroller. A mattress that’s resting against the wall.

And everything Jeff has left from hockey, pushed neatly into a corner of the room. Frames bundled up in bubble-wrap, sticks that are put away in the same plastic bags that Kaylin uses to store the carpets for the summer. A couple of boxes stacked on top of each other with “skates” written messily across the side.

It’s things he hasn’t looked at in almost two years, ever since he put them in here in the first place, but things he’s never wanted to throw away either. They carry a lot of memories for him, even though those memories leave him with a sour feeling in his stomach more often than not.

Jeff goes to the bathroom to grab a pair of scissors, and uses them to cut open the wrapping of one of the frames. He pulls the wrapping away, turns the frame around, and sees it’s his jersey from Team Canada, from the Olympics. His fingers are sweaty when he unwraps the next frame. It’s a Kings’ jersey this time, black and stark and glittery around the edges. An ‘A’ is stitched over the left shoulder.

Jeff sits down on the dusty carpet. He grabs the next canvas, a smaller one this time. A puck and a picture of him holding it up for his 600th career point. Another frame for 400 goals. Another one for his first career hat trick.

He rips open one of the larger frames to find a picture of Mike and he, the cup held between them. They’re both smiling, not even looking in the same direction when the picture was snapped. Jeff still has his front teeth.

Jeff doesn’t want to throw all this away, but he doesn’t want to look at it every day either. He gets up, takes that last picture with him, and heads to the living room. He leaves the frame on the couch, careful to make sure it won’t slip down the pillows, and goes to the garage for a nail and a hammer. He even grabs a tape measure to make sure he won’t irreparably destroy his walls. He chooses the spot between the sliding doors in the living room, above an end table. The picture fits well there.

 

 

 

The next morning over Skype, Mike looks fine. He looks different than Jeff expected, the same way he sounded different than Jeff expected yesterday on the phone. Maybe that’s because Jeff himself was a wreck after announcing his retirement, spent three days holed up in his bedroom blocking out anything hockey related.

They’ve had different careers though. Mike had to prove a lot of people wrong to get to where he is. He had to keep finding ways to make it work. Jeff thinks that’s the part he’s always admired the most about Mike.

Maybe that’s what makes this easier for Mike. Or, not easier, Jeff doesn’t think anything could make this easier. But. Different.

Jeff still doesn’t ask Mike about hockey, or his plans, just lets Mike bring it up if he wants to. Mike does.

“I, uhm, I was thinking,” he starts with a deep breath. He’s looking down, away from the screen, only glancing up every few seconds to meet Jeff’s eyes. “Maybe, like, I could move back to LA. After I’ve wrapped everything up here.” He sounds shy, and nervous in a way he didn’t one minute ago.

Jeff tried to follow his own advice when it came to this, to just get through the season, or through the next time they could visit each other. It worked. For the most part. But he’s glad that Mike’s saying now, even though he hates the circumstances.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, “Yeah, that’d be pretty great.”

Mike looks up then, smiling, and it’s the wide one that makes it up to his eyes. “Okay,” he says, nodding.

They just sit there, grinning at each other for a few seconds, and then Jeff says, “Are you, ugh, are you sure though?” because he has to. Because he remembers how bad that last year Mike spent in LA was for him, and he doesn’t want Mike to have to go through that again.

Mike frowns, so Jeff explains, “You were.” Jeff clears his throat. “You weren’t all that happy here before you left. For Columbus.”

Mike gets this soft look on his face again, and he says, slowly, “Yeah, that wasn’t the city.”

Jeff can hear what’s left unsaid there, and he nods. “Okay.” He looks down at his feet for a moment, then back up at Mike. “Do you want to, ah, tell them? The kids, I mean,” he says.

Mike purses his lips, straightening up. “If you’d rather not tell them,” he starts, very carefully. “I’d understand that.”

“What? No,” Jeff says quickly, because Mike looks and sounds utterly serious. “No way.”

“Are you sure?” Mike asks, voice tight.

Jeff narrows his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, drawing it out. “Unless _you’d_ rather not tell them?”

“No, no.” Mike shakes his head. “I just don’t want to pressure you into doing something you don’t want,” he says, voice rising defensively.

Jeff sighs. “This is not pushing to do something I don’t want,” he says. Mike opens his mouth and Jeff raises his hand to stop him. “I want you, and I can’t have you without telling them. It doesn’t work like that.” His voice is growing thick, and Jeff pauses for a moment to clear it. “They’re not separate things.”

Mike blinks at him on the screen. Jeff generally hates the screen between them, but he hates it with a new kind of viciousness now.

“I.” Mike opens his mouth again, then visibly deflates. “I know. I want it too,” he says, “But. You don’t think it’s too soon to tell them?”

Jeff thinks, for anyone else, maybe. Even for Mike, it’s a little soon. But Jeff hasn’t “introduced” anyone to them in that way, and he wants to give them time to get used to the idea, both of Jeff seeing someone, and that someone being a guy. Jeff wants them to know. “Maybe, but probably not. We’ve known each other for a long time,” he says.

Mike snorts, but the air between them doesn’t feel so tense any more.

“I can bring it up with them before you come. Does that work?” Jeff suggests.

“Yeah, uhm, that sounds good,” he says, “Sorry, I just. I don’t want to make this difficult for you.”

Jeff shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t like I was going to spend my whole life is celibacy,” he says, and Mike rolls his eyes at him.

 

 

 

Kaylin’s advice, when Jeff calls her, mainly consists of, “don’t emotionally scar them for life,” which sounds easy enough in theory, but is basically something Jeff keeps going back and forth on every minute that he spend alone with them. She then takes pity on him and says, in a more serious tone, “Don’t worry if they don’t take it well at first,” and, “Be very clear about what Mike is to you.”

 “So, I should call him my boyfriend?” Jeff asks at that, because he doesn’t think of Mike like that, but what Kaylin’s trying to tell him makes sense.

“If you’re comfortable, yes. Just use a word they’ll understand, so, boyfriend, partner, something like that,” she says, “Don’t overly complicate things.”

Kaylin sounds very stern on that last part, so Jeff keeps it simple. He makes sure to stock up on ice-cream Thursday, and feeds it to them on Saturday afternoon, because this will officially be the first serious discussion he’s had them since the divorce—other than the one he had with Chris regarding the responsibilities involved in taking care of a pet—and Jeff needs all the ammunition he can get.

They’re in the living room, which is Chris’s favorite place in the entire house now, since it is home to Molly. Jeff makes sure they’ve had sufficient amounts of sugar in them before saying, “So, I need to talk to you guys about something.”

They both nod, not particularly bothered by this.

“It’s, uhm, it’s important to me, and I want you to know that it doesn’t change anything,” he says. He doesn’t want to alert them but he doesn’t want to shock them too much either. “There’s someone that I’ve been seeing—dating, and I wanted you guys to know about him.”

Both of them look up from their ice-cream to give Jeff wide-eyed looks that make him want to squirm where he’s sitting on the floor with them. He isn’t sure if they’re surprised because he just said he’s dating a man, or because he’s dating in general but when neither of them says anything, Jeff goes on.

“Mike, my friend who came to visit a few weeks ago,” he says, and they both nod, a little uncertain. Jeff marvels at how similar they are sometimes, and then how different. “He’s who I’ve been dating.”

Jeff braces himself for their reactions after that, even though he isn’t half sure what he’s expecting. Chris is the one to recover first, while Dylan is still looking at Jeff with his mouth half open and his eyes slightly narrowed. “Are you getting married?” Chris asks, and Jeff’s head snaps around to face at him. Chris just looks at him expectantly though, like this is a completely normal question that warrants a completely normal answer. Jeff figures, for a six year old, it probably is.

“Uh, no, we’re not getting married, Chris,” he says, trying to smile around it.

“Oh.” Chris nods. “How come?” he asks then, suddenly sounding suspicious.

“You don’t get married to every person you date, stupid,” Dylan pipes up, harsher than Jeff’s used to hearing him. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, and he’s not looking at either of them.

Jeff is stunned silent for a second. Dylan is usually really good with Chris, even though Chris is distracted most of the time, daydreaming into space, and Jeff isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do with this. He eventually says, “Don’t call your brother stupid,” and his voice comes out flat.

Dylan rolls his eyes and stands up. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “I’m going to the garage.”

He’s gone before Jeff can get another word out, and Jeff is left starting after him, this sinking feeling settling in his gut. He knew coming in that this would be a touchy subject, but he’d honestly though it would go fine—he wasn’t shooting for enthusiastic acceptance or anything, but he wasn’t prepared for this either. He thought, if either of them was going to have a problem with this, it’d be Chris, who was the younger one.

But when Jeff turns around again, Chris is there looking at him. He’s got chocolate ice-cream all over his upper lip and his cheeks, and there’s some on his t-shirt too. Jeff probably should have insisted on non-white attire for the day. “Dolphins do that, too, and killer whales,” he says around a spoonful of ice-cream.

“Killer whales,” Jeff repeats. How does Chris even know what a killer whale is?

“Yeah, males find a male partners, and females find female partners,” Chris says, grinning proudly.

Jeff smiles and reaches out to mess up Chris’ hair. “Thanks, buddy. I’ll keep it mind,” he says, voice coming out thick.

Chris tries to duck away from him. Jeff lets him go because Chris still hasn’t finished his ice-cream and Jeff would rather not spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning chocolate off his carpet. “You should tell Mike, too,” Chris says, once he’s freed himself. “But he might know. He knows a lot about fish,” he sounds a little in awe, and Jeff chuckles.

“I will,” Jeff promises.

 

 

 

Jeff gives Dylan a few more minutes before following him to the garage.

Dylan is shooting pucks at a corkboard that they use in place of a net, and every time he shoots, it sounds a little louder. He stops when he sees Jeff standing by the door, but it’s only for a half a minute and then he goes back to it.

“Mind if I join you?” Jeff asks, raising his voice over the sounds of the pucks hitting the cork.

Dylan stops long enough to shrug without looking away from the wooden board under his feet.

Jeff sits down on the steps underneath he door and waits him out because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Dylan doesn’t seem to pay him any attention, focused on hitting the exact same place on the corkboard with every puck; he’s pretty successful at it. He’s worked through all of his pucks twice when he finally snaps, “He doesn’t even live here.”

Jeff jumps at how loud Dylan’s voice is, ringing off the walls.

“He lives in Columbus, doesn’t he?” Dylan goes on. “He plays for the Jackets?”

Jeff clears his throat before speaking. “He’s retiring. He’s coming back to LA,” he says.

Dylan huffs and starts re-arranging the pucks in front of him the way he likes.

“It would mean a lot to me if you gave him a chance,” Jeff says, soft.

Dylan opens his mouth to say something, and then snaps it shut a second later. “Whatever,” he mutters. He turns away from Jeff to start shooting again.

Jeff tries to wait him out again, but after Dylan’s gone three rounds without so much as breathing in Jeff’s direction, Jeff sighs and gets up. “Don’t stay too late,” he says to Dylan. “You’ll hurt your wrists.”

Jeff drags his feet back inside. He’s glad when he sees that Chris is still drawing in the living room where he left him because that means Jeff can shag against the fridge without feeling guilty about it. He’s pretty sure he’s supposed to be over this paralyzing anxiety that overcomes him whenever he thinks about screwing up with Dylan or Chris. He’s not though, and if Kaylin were here now she’d probably say something wise about how it’s a learning process and all, which seems to be her go-to cliché. But Jeff sees her with them, and he sees her ease, and he can’t help but wonder if it’s always been there, or if that was a learning process too.

He ends up calling her later that night, after the kids have gone to bed, Dylan still not talking to him. She asks him how it went and he sighs into the phone, and that makes her say _oh_ , so she probably gets it. Still, Jeff reiterates what happened, all the way from the ice-cream to the awkward dinner and she hums throughout it.

“He’s a kid. Change is hard,” is what she says once he’s finished.

Jeff snorts, because Chris is a kid and he doesn’t seem to hate Jeff’s guts right now.

Kaylin, as if reading his mind, says, “Everyone’s different. You need to give him time.”

“So, you don’t think I screwed up too bad?” Jeff asks, trying to play it off as a joke, but mostly needing to hear it from her.

“No, Jeff.” She chuckles, and Jeff breathes out. “He gave me the cold shoulder too when I introduced Adam to them.”

Jeff remembers that, but somehow, it hadn’t looked as bad as Dylan slapping pucks into a corkboard and not giving Jeff another look.

He thinks about calling Mike after and doesn’t, because Mike would probably apologize, apologize for something that isn’t even on him, and Jeff wouldn’t know what to tell him to make him feel better. And Jeff’s doubting himself pretty hard right now anyways, he doesn’t need any incentive to make it worse.

 

 

 

On Sunday Dylan is still not talking to him. It doesn’t matter what Jeff says, Dylan just ignores him with a sort of determination Jeff hadn’t seen from him before. Jeff even tries bribing, and that doesn’t work, and he doesn’t try extortion or grounding because he doesn’t want to make things even worse.

Chris picks up on it too though, how weird Dylan is acting, and for Chris to pick up on it then Jeff reasons it has to be pretty bad. It makes the rest of the weekend awkward, and Monday morning too, in a way it hasn’t been since Jeff and Kaylin got divorced, which is probably the worst part.

Kaylin hugs him on Monday when she comes to pick up the kids’ things, which Jeff supposes says enough about what he looks like. “Did you sleep at all?” she asks critically after she lets go of him.

It doesn’t sound like she’s asking to get an answer to Jeff shrugs.

“He’s at a tough age, Jeff,” she says then, which –

“Tough age?” Jeff asks, more than a little mortified. “What’s it gonna be like when he’s, I don’t know, fourteen?”

Kaylin laughs. “Probably full of mood swings,” she says, unconcerned. “But that’s five years away, don’t worry about it.”

“Do you think he’s not gonna talk to me for the next five years?” Jeff asks, mostly joking, but, see, _mostly_.

Kaylin rolls her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “I sincerely doubt that,” she says, “What did Richie say when you told him?”

Jeff guiltily turns to look at floor.

“Jeff,” Kaylin says after three seconds of Jeff doing that. “Are you avoiding him? Don’t avoid him.”

“I know, I know,” Jeff says quickly. “I just don’t know what to tell him,” he admits.

“The truth is always a good place to start,” Kaylin says without missing a beat.

Jeff sighs because he knows she’s right and he knows he can’t keep putting it off. He waits until Kaylin’s left and then calls Mike, but gets the voicemails both times he tries. He doesn’t let himself worry about it, because Mike is probably busy, and sure enough, half an hour later Mike calls him back.

“Sorry, I was just talking with my lawyer,” Mike explains. “I swear to god, every time we talk it’s an hour of things I don’t understand.”

Jeff chuckles at that and asks Mike if anything’s wrong.

“No, just telling him about what I decided,” Mike says. He sounds relaxed in a way Jeff envies right now. “How about you?” Mike prompts.

Jeff swallows, starts fidgeting with the bottle of water he’s got in front of him. “I told the kids. On Saturday,” he says.

“I figured.” There’s not heat in Mike’s voice, and no edge either. They might as well be talking about the weather.

Jeff goes on. “It didn’t go too well,” he says, and holds his breath for Mike’s reaction.

“Oh,” Mike just says, and his tone is the same, his voice is the same. “What happened?”

Jeff tells him, in stops and starts, everything he told Kaylin two days ago. It’s difficult, because with every word that leaves his mouth he can’t help but imagine Mike moving one step closer to calling quits to this, or saying something like, “I think it’s best we took a break.”

Only Mike doesn’t. He takes it all in stride, prompting Jeff to go on whenever there’s too long of a break between his sentences, and when Jeff tells him about the rest of the weekend and Dylan refusing to talk to him, Mike takes that in stride too.

When Jeff is finished, Mike says, “That sucks,” and Jeff breathes out when he doesn’t try to apologize. He’s surprised, though he shouldn’t be; Mike knows what to say when things get tough, that’s one of the thing that made him a good captain. One of the things that made him a great teammate.

“Yeah,” Jeff agrees, but his chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore.

They’re both quiet for a few seconds, and Jeff focuses on Mike’s mouth-breathing noises. He says, “Kaylin thinks he’ll come around.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Mike says quickly. “Do you think,” he stops, starts over again. “Do you think it’d help, if we got to know each other better.”

“For sure,” Jeff says, “Maybe, after you came here, we could try doing something?”

“That’d be nice,” Mike says, and his voice is quiet.

“But hey,” Jeff starts, “Chris told me to tell you that killer whales have same sex mates, so we’ve got his seal of approval.”

It’s a couple of seconds late, but that makes Mike laugh.

 

 

 

It takes Mike a week to tell the team and management and everyone else who needs to know about his decision to retire. Nothing is finalized yet, and Jeff doesn’t know if anyone tried to change his mind, but he imagines they didn’t.

He picks Mike up from the airport on a Tuesday night. Mike looks tired, a little slow to spot Jeff where he’s waiting for him. Jeff wraps his arms around him as soon as Mike is close enough, and maybe it’s a little too tight but Mike hugs him back just as hard, his nose digging into Jeff’s shoulder and his fingers into Jeff’s back.

They step back to look at each other, stupidly, and Jeff wants to kiss him, he really wants to kiss him, except not in the middle of the airport with so many people watching them. He’s pretty sure Mike doesn’t want that either. He does kiss him as soon as they’re in the car, the gearstick between them and Mike hands on Jeff’s face, Jeff’s on Mike’s neck. Mike rests his forehead against Jeff’s after, strokes his thumb over the thin skin beneath Jeff’s eye, and Jeff’s breath does a shaky thing, all on its own accord.

They have to get going, eventually. Jeff has to keep sneaking glances at Mike as he drives them back. Mike doesn’t seem to mind; he just smiles whenever he catches Jeff doing it. He leans into Jeff as they make their way from the driveway to the front door, and gives him an appreciative look once they get inside and Jeff doesn’t make a move to turn on any more lights than is necessary.

They go upstairs together, and Jeff bypasses the guestroom and heads for his room instead. He leaves Mike’s bag there, and says, to Mike’s raised eyebrows, “The bed in here is better anyways.”

Mike smiles knowingly. “I’m sure it is,” he says, “You’re coming too?”

Jeff nods, runs his hand down Mike’s arm until he can link their fingers together. “Yeah, I’ll just lock up and be right up,” he says, but doesn’t make any move to walk away,

“Well, hurry up then,” Mike says after a few seconds.

Jeff does. He locks the door and makes sure to double check before setting the alarm. He walks past Molly’s fish bowl and checks that too, sees her swimming through her fake seaweeds. He goes to turn off the lights and then thinks about Mike’s sleeping patterns and decides to leave two on, one in the living room and one on the stairs.

By the time he’s finished, Mike is lying in bed under the covers, lying in Jeff’s bed, and Jeff is not prepared for the way his heart expands in his chest when he sees him. He feels stuck there, watching him, and it takes him a couple of seconds to make his legs move so he can get ready for bed.

Mike blinks his eyes open when Jeff gets himself under the covers, but he looks sleepy, so Jeff tries to be as stealth as he can. Mike is on his side, his front turned towards the middle of the bed, and Jeff tries to lie on his back, only he’s not used to sleeping like that and it doesn’t work, so he shifts until he’s on his side too, his back to Mike’s chest.

There’s too much space between them like this though, so Jeff tries to move closer, slowly and carefully, trying to keep Mike from noticing what he’s doing. He feels Mike’s arm settle around his waist then, his hand cold against Jeff’s bare stomach, and he realizes, abruptly, that there’s not real reason to bother with this. He gives up then, starts to grumble his way through making himself comfortable.

When he settles again, there’s barely any space between them and Mike’s arm is tight around Jeff’s side. Jeff can feel Mike’s breath, ghosting over the back of his beck, sending shivers down his spine. He can feel the thump of Mike’s heartbeat too, between his shoulder blades.

Mike presses his lips to Jeff’s nape, and Jeff thinks he can feel his smile there.

 

 

 

Jeff wakes up some time later, when it’s too early and too dark. His back is cold, and he rolls over sluggishly. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do he sees Mike sitting on the edge of the bed. Mike twists his torso to the right, and his spine pops, loud. He twists to the left, and his spine pops more. He puts his hand under his chin, pressing up, and his neck pops too, on both sides.

Jeff stretches his leg out, the injured one. It makes the sheets rustle, and Mike turns to face him, grimacing when he twists too far. “Hey, go back to sleep,” he says, apologetic.

Jeff goes.

 

 

 

Jeff wakes up again, at a more reasonable hour this time, from Mike settling down on the bed next to him. He’s dressed and lying over the covers but his hair is a mess from him running his fingers through it constantly and he’s smiling. It’s not a bad view to wake up to.

“Good morning,” Mike says, and Jeff, without even thinking about it, replies, “Yeah, it is.”

Mike blinks once, surprised, and then rolls his eyes. “Your lines are horrible,” he mumbles, but Jeff can see his lips twitching.

He shrugs. “The seem to work fine on you.”

“Eh, that’s just your pretty face,” Mike says.

Jeff’s eyebrows rise up. “Oh. So you do think I’m pretty,” he says, propping himself on his elbow so he can look down at Mike.

Mike rolls his eyes again, even harder this time. “I clearly have terrible taste,” he says, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Jeff huffs, rolls so he’s lying on top of Mike as much as he can with the covers tangled between them. Mike makes a show of squirming under Jeff’s weight, but settles once Jeff takes hold of his wrists and pins them above his head. Jeff doesn’t put too much strength into it, so Mike can easily get away if he wants to, but Mike just licks his lips, keeps looking at Jeff with lazy eyes.

Jeff leans down and kisses him, just barely brushing their lips together until Mike has to press up against him to get Jeff to deepen it. Jeff does, bites at Mike lips and then drags his teeth over Mike’s jawline, down the column of his neck, pulling Mike’s shirt aside to go further. He stops at a point just over Mike’s breastbone, low enough that the skin there will be hidden beneath his shirt, because he’s not sure how Mike would feel about walking around with a hickey stamped on his neck.

Jeff can feel Mike’s wrists tightening under his palm, his hands squeezing and releasing as if trying to grip the air. Jeff seals his lips over the sensitive skin, stars sucking, slowly, and Mike tilts his head back, trying to give him more room. Jeff smiles into Mike’s chest, grazes his teeth over the spot he’s working on, then soothes it with his tongue.

When Jeff decides to pull back, Mike has a bright red spot right over his clavicle. It’s already starting to purple in the center, and Jeff lets go of Mike’s wrists completely so he can brush his fingers over it. “That didn’t hurt too much, right?” he asks, just to be sure. The bruising looks soft, and Jeff doesn’t think he went too hard, but he’s not in Mike’s skin.

Mike clears his throat. “No, uhm, no it didn’t.”

Jeff grins and meets his eyes. They are definitely no laziness there anymore. “Is your taste still terrible?” he asks.

Mike laughs, moves his hand to Jeff’s hips over the covers. “Slightly less,” he says, “But your breath really is.”

Jeff rolls his eyes and climbs off him but doesn’t make any move to get out of bed. Not everyone can have Mike’s sleep schedule.

“Hey,” Mike starts, nervous. He’s looking at the ceiling. “That picture, in the living room, that’s new, right?” he asks.

“Well, it’s from nine years ago, so I wouldn’t exactly call it new,” Jeff says, even though he knows what Mike’s talking about.

Mike, predictably, slaps his side. Jeff grabs his hand and holds it. “I mean, it wasn’t here before,” Mike explains after a second.

“Then yes, it’s new,” Jeff says.

Mike makes a thoughtful noise. “I have an appointment with the realtor today,” he says, matter of fact. “To look at houses around here.”

Jeff’s stomach sinks, because Mike hasn’t even been here for one day. He stills makes himself say, “Oh,” because it sounds like Mike’s waiting for his response to go on.

“I can go on my own, I was cleared to drive, but, ugh,” Mike pauses, “Do you want to come with me?”

Jeff doesn’t, not really. He does want to spend time with Mike though, even if it’s selfish to think about it that way. He says, “Yeah, of course.”

 

 

 

The realtor, as it turns out, has four houses to show Mike, none of which appeal to Jeff. Jeff admits that’s not because there’s anything outright wrong with any of them. In fact, they’re all perfectly fine, average size, good aesthetic, nice construction and everything. Everything Mike could looks for in a house.

But Jeff’s only spent a few hours with Mike, most of which were wasted sleeping, and now Mike’s already looking for a lease.

Jeff drags his feet inside when they get the fourth house, the last one, and doesn’t manage to look any more excited as the realtor shows them around. He can tell the way he’s acting is bothering Mike, mostly through all the side-eyed looks Mike throws his way, but he pretends he can’t.

“So, I’ll give you some time to talk about it,” the realtor says once she’s finished showing them around. She smiles warmly at them and heads outside. She probably thinks they’re a couple, Jeff decides. She probably thinks Jeff is a horrible boyfriend too.

Mike waits until she’s gone to ask, “Do you like this one?” He’s clearly annoyed, and probably exasperated.

Jeff shrugs. “It’s nice,” he says, because it is. It’s a fifteen minute walk from his house, which is also nice.

Mike sighs. He takes a few steps until he reaches the wall and runs a hand over the smooth paint job. “You know, if you didn’t want to come you could’ve just said so,” he says, his back turned to Jeff.

Jeff drags the toe of his shoe over the wooden floor. It squeaks with newness. This is a really nice house. “You didn’t tell me you were looking for a house,” he says. His voice echoes in the empty room.

Mike turns around to face him. He’s frowning. “What are you – ” Mike stops himself, clicks his jaw shut. He grins his teeth, very obviously trying to keep himself calm.

“Let’s do this in the car,” he says finally, after a long minute.

Jeff sighs, but he goes to wait for Mike in the car as Mike finishes up with the realtor.

“I’m not going to stay with you while Dylan has a problem with this,” Mike says, as soon as the car door is closed behind him. “I’m not doing that.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” Jeff says quickly. “That’s not – that wouldn’t work.”

Mike huffs. He starts fidgeting with the glove compartment, opening it and then closing it, over and over. “Then I don’t understand the problem,” he says, voice rising before he catches himself.

“I just thought,” Jeff starts, then stops himself because he doesn’t know what to follow it with to not make himself sound like an asshole.

“That I could stay at your house during the week, and then at a hotel during the weekend?” Mike fills in, after Jeff’s been quiet for too long. He knows Jeff really well, always has, and Jeff winces, both at Mike’s tone and what he’s saying.

They’re both quiet in the car for a few minutes, the air between them charged. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought that through,” Jeff admits. A part of him hates how small his voice sounds, but he’s mostly relieved he can get those words out in the first place.

Mike breathes out, long and deep. His body unwinds. “No, you hadn’t,” he says calmly.

Then it’s quiet again, just the sound of the heater working after Jeff turns it on.

“I just want to get it over with,” Mike says. His fingers are still fiddling with the glove compartment hatch.

Jeff isn’t really sure if they’re still talking about the house of if they’ve moved on to something else. Mike goes on before Jeff can ask. “I told the team and everybody just started looking at me differently,” Mike says, and this Jeff doesn’t need to ask questions about. This he knows. “Like they were sorry for me or whatever.”

Jeff might know, but he doesn’t say that. It sucks to have people say that to you. He says instead, “It gets better.”

Mike scoffs. “I think, right about now, my cats are the only ones not feeling sorry for me,” he says like he wants to laugh at himself.

Jeff purses his lips, trying to come up with something to say. His phone rings before he can, and Mike and he both jump. Jeff checks the screen and sees it’s Kaylin calling him. “Sorry, it’s Kaylin,” he says to Mike before getting out of the car.

Kaylin and Jeff try to figure out most of their weekly schedule on Friday or Monday when they see each other, so Jeff is a little surprised to hear from her in the middle of the week. At first he worries there might be something wrong with the kids, but Kaylin is quick to assure him that’s everything fine.

“I just wanted to see if you and Mike wanted to come for dinner tomorrow. With the kids, obviously,” she says.

“Do you think it’ll help?” Jeff asks.

“I don’t think it’ll hurt anyone for them to get to know each other better,” Kaylin argues.

Jeff takes a couple of steps up the pavement until he can see Mike through the windshield. Mike is leaning forward, no doubt messing with the radio, or doing something else to keep his hands busy. “I’ll ask him and let you know, okay?”

“Everything okay?” Mike asks when Jeff gets back in the car. He looks a lot more composed then before, less fidgety.

“Kaylin just wanted to invite us to dinner tomorrow. Her place, with the kids,” Jeff tells him, easily, because he doesn’t think Mike will actually refuse.

Mike does a funny thing with his mouth, like he’s not sure what to think of that.

Jeff makes sure to be clear when he says, “I’d like you to come, but not if you don’t want to.”

Mike’s frowning doesn’t stop. “I just don’t want to make it worse,” he says, and there’s a tilt to his voice in the end that makes it come out uncertain, more like a question.

Jeff shrugs, remembering what Kaylin said. “I don’t think it will. I mean, we won’t push it, but maybe it will be good for them to actually see us together,” he says.

That seems to appease Mike a little, though it’s still a few seconds before he nods. “Sure,” he says, and Jeff nods too, relieved.

They’re stopped at a red light hen Jeff says, “I don’t feel sorry for you, for the record. And neither should you.” He knows it’s now actually that simple, that it will take more than Jeff saying that until Mike feels it himself. But Mike’s fingers uncurl from where they were gripping his jeans, so Jeff doesn’t think it hurts Mike to hear it.

 

 

 

 

Kaylin opens the door with an apron around her waist and a single oven glove on. She greets Mike warmly, hugging him carefully so as not to get any of the sauce stains from her apron onto his clothes. “Thanks for coming, Mike. Don’t worry fi he bites,” she tells him, patting his cheek with her gloved hand.

Dylan’s greeting is not so warm. It actually consists of Dylan staring straight ahead without sparing Jeff and Mike another look while Kaylin finishes blow-drying his hair in the kitchen.

The actual dinner goes – well, it goes. Or, it doesn’t, since every single one of Mike’s attempts to capture Dylan’s attention, or even get him to answer to a question get decisively shut down, mostly by Dylan refusing to acknowledge them in the first place. Jeff gets much of the same treatment until Kaylin chastises Dylan for being rude. They at least graduate to one worded replies then, like “yes”, “no” and “fine”.

Unsurprisingly, conversation doesn’t get far.

Mike’s leg starts fidgeting a few minutes into it, bumping against Jeff’s under the table, and Jeff slips a hand down between them to steady it. Mike just worries at his beard instead, tugging at a patch of hair a few times before releasing it, only to start all over again.

But he tries. He asks the kids about school and their favorite subjects, Dylan’s short answers coming in strong contrast to Chris’, who doesn’t treat Mike any different than he did when he met him last month.

Kaylin picks up some of the slack too, filling in for Dylan and trying to encourage him. She asks him about practice and last weekend’s game and gets only a shrug in return, which prompts Jeff to say, “Dylan has tried playing defense for a couple of weeks now.”

“Do you like defense better than wing?” Mike asks. Jeff can feel him relax next to him, probably at the opportunity to talk about something he’s so well versed in.

Dylan shrugs again, and Mike’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know,” he says, pushing his food around on his plate.

“Defense is pretty hard,” Mike says, “Sometimes our coach made us switch from forward to defense at practice and the skating backwards bit was the worst.”

“I guess,” Dylan mumbles. He sighs heavily and puts his fork down. “Can I go now?” He asks Kaylin.

Mike’s leg stills completely under the table, and his hand leaves his face. He turns to look down at his still half full plate. Jeff squeezes his knee as Kaylin says, “Sure,” with a tight smile.

Dylan’s chair squeaks as he pushes away from the table, and Mike’s knee starts jerking again, harder than before. Jeff has been through a couple of rough patches with Dylan, maybe not to this degree, and if this feels horrible for him, it has to feel even worse for Mike.

Dylan’s door slams shut from down the hall and Kaylin sighs, starts getting up.

“No,” Jeff says, “I’ll go.” because this is about him, it’s not really about Mike. Dylan doesn’t know Mike well enough for that.

Jeff walks down the hall, knocks twice on Dylan’s door but doesn’t get an answer. “Dylan? It’s me, can I come in?”

Dylan gives a small groan at that so Jeff steps inside. Dylan is on his bed, lying on his stomach, and he doesn’t even twitch when Jeff closes the door behind him. Jeff takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he doesn’t even know, and then goes to lie next to Dylan. There’s a poster of Backstrom on the wall across from the bed and Jeff scowls at it. He turns his head to the side, and there’s Crosby, up on the wall behind Dylan, smirking at him.

“Is it because he’s a man?” Jeff blurts out, heart hammering in his chest, because he can’t even consider what he’s gonna do if this doesn’t pass.

Dylan turns his face away from the mattress to frown at him. “No,” he says. It comes out mumbled into the bedspread and Dylan rolls over on his back. “No, it’s not. Lucas has two moms and I hang out with him all the time,” he says.

Jeff nods to himself. “What is it then?” he tries, keeping his voice gentle. He’s the one who’s supposed to keep it together over here.

Dylan sits up, turning his back to Jeff. “If you’re gonna date someone, why can’t it be mom?”

Jeff feels the same sour feeling settling in his stomach as when he first brought this up with him. He feels it bubbling up now, all the way to his mouth because it hadn’t even crossed his mind that this could be what was on Dylan’s mind, and he doesn’t think it crossed Kaylin’s either. It’s been two years since the divorce, but maybe it should have.

Jeff sighs and sits up too so he can put his arm around Dylan’s shoulders. Dylan leans into him, and Jeff relaxes the tiniest bit.

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” he says, “Your know it doesn’t work like that. Your mom and I are not – we’re not good together like that. ” His voice is not very steady, but he thinks Dylan understands. “We still love you though, and that doesn’t change.”

Dylan nods into Jeff’s chest and Jeff squeezes his arm around him. He doesn’t know what else to say so he stays quiet, waits for Dylan to pull away from him first. When he does, a few minutes later, Jeff lets himself take a few deep breaths. He asks, “You wanna come down for dessert?”

Dylan frowns, so Jeff is quick to say, “You don’t have to, but it’s a nice cake.”

That seems to do it for Dylan, and he follows Jeff back to the table. Mike is sitting facing the hallway, and his eyes grow wide once he sees them, his back straightening. Kaylin has already brought out the peanut butter and chocolate cake, and she makes sure to give Dylan a sizeable serving. She and Jeff share a look, and she tilts her head to the side, inquiring. Jeff nods in answer, mouths _later_.

“What kind of fish do you catch when you go fishing?” Chris asks Mike, once Kaylin’s done serving dessert. The lower half of his face is already covered in chocolate and he’s barely had two full bites of it.

“Uhm.” Mike purses his lips, thinking. “Walleye, pike. Trout,” he says, “Some of them are easier to catch than others.” He starts pulling at the same patch of hair on his beard again.

“But you put them back in the water after, right?” Chris asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. It’s a light blue shirt, and it now has chocolate stains.

Jeff winces at Chris’ question. He should have seen this coming a mile away.

Mike’s eyebrows twist together, and he bites his lip, no doubt thinking about how to phrase this in the most sensitive way possible. His fingers keep pulling at his beard; he’s going to grow a bald spot on his face. “Sometimes,” he says in the end, hesitantly.

Chris frowns around his spoon. “Oh,” he says, and it sounds a little disappointed.

Kaylin presses her lips together, trying not to laugh.

Mike switches to scratching his beard instead of pulling and Jeff gently knocks his hand away. Mike’s eyes track his hand, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Dylan doesn’t say anything directly to Mike, but he stops looking at the table, cleans out his plate. He tells Jeff and Mike goodnight when they leave, just before the sugar crush sets it, and it’s not perfect, but Jeff will take it, for now.

 

 

 

The Jackets schedule Mike’s retirement ceremony for the night of their first game against the Flyers the next season. Mike is nervous, Jeff can tell, and he tries on maybe a dozen different suits under Jeff’s watchful eye before he settles on a black one, identical to the one he started with.

“How do I look?” he asks Jeff, stepping out of the closet and into the bedroom where Jeff’s waiting for him.

Mike doesn’t look the same as he used to last year, when he still played, but this suit fits him well. The pants don’t hang dangerously loose from his hips like the first five suits he tried, and the jacket stretches nicely across his shoulders, just tight enough to cling to his muscles. Jeff nods, once. “Hot,” he says.

Mike rolls his eyes and huffs, though he’s blushing; Jeff is not fooled. “Come on,” he says, “Be serious.”

“I am. You look hot,” Jeff says, and it’s not hard to admit it. It’s definitely worth the way his heart spikes when Mike smiles, a little flustered.

“Uhm,” Mike starts, and Jeff grins. “No, shut up, stop distracting me,” he mutters, but there’s not bitterness behind it.

“You asked for my opinion,” Jeff argues.

Mike shushes him and slips back in the closet. Jeff hears a pitiful mewl from the corner of the bed and bends over to pick up Pawpaw – Jeff had nothing to do with the name, that was all Tyler and his genius housewarming gifting abilities, he swears – because she’s still too small to jump on furniture. He gently puts her at the foot of the bed and gives her his hand to rub her head against, grins when she starts purring.

Jeff looks up when he hears Mike clear his throat, ducks his head even though he has nothing to feel embarrassed about. Mike just gives him a knowing look and holds out the tie rack that he went in the closet to get. “Now, which tie?” he asks. “I was thinking this – ” He picks up the blue one with the white, horizontal stripes cutting across it, and just. No.

“No,” Jeff says without even letting him finish. “Put that thing down.”

Mike frowns. “Why?”

Jeff looks at him. “It’s ugly,” he says because one, it’s the truth, and two, Jeff has seen too much of that tie over the years that he’s known Mike.

“It’s lucky,” Mike argues, which, whatever, he doesn’t even believe in that stuff.

“You’re not wearing horizontal stripes to your retirement ceremony,” Jeff tells him.

Mike starts to argue, and Jeff raises his hand. “Come here,” he says, which earns him a distrustful look. “I won’t bite, Jesus.”

Mike purses his lips but makes his way over to the bed where Jeff is sitting. He’s still holding onto that god-awful tie, so Jeff takes it from his hands and leaves it on the mattress next to him. “Hey,” Mike protests, and Jeff tells him to wait. He takes the tie rack from Mike’s other hand and starts shifting through it, briefly looking up at Mike when he stumbles upon a tie with tiny little snowmen on it.

“What?” Mike shrugs. “It’s festive,” he says.

Jeff shakes his head, keeps going until he finds one that catches his eye. It’s dark charcoal, and when Jeff holds it up to Mike’s neck, it looks good with his shirt. He puts the tie rack aside and shifts so he’s sitting more comfortably on the bed. “Come on,” he says, using a hand on Mike’s hip to guide him where he wants him.

Mike gets the idea pretty quickly and climbs up on the bed, knees sunken into either side of Jeff’s hips. The shift in the mattress makes Pawpaw skitter off the bed, run to hide in the closet. Mike keeps his eight forward, on his own knees, and he smirks when Jeff loops the tie around his neck.

It’s weirdly intimate, sitting with Mike like this, being able to feel every single one of his muscles shift as he breathes and leans into Jeff. Jeff remembers not knowing how to use that word between them, not too long ago. He knows now, and he keeps his fingers soft as he works the two ends of the tie into a knot, tries to draw this out as much as he can.

“Kinky,” Mike says, once Jeff pushes the knot up to his throat. He sounds all cool about it, but his face is red, his ears taking the worst of it. Jeff thinks that’s his favorite tell about Mike.

He wraps his fingers around the tie and pulls down, just a little, slow enough that Mike can anticipate it because vertigo is most certainly not hot, and kisses him. “Have to keep you interested somehow.”

 

 

 

They get to the arena early enough that Mike can spend a few minutes with the guys in the locker room. The door is closed behind them, and Jeff hovers in the hallway, next to a group of reporters. Some of them recognize him, even walk up to say hello, but no one breaks out a mic and a camera, though Jeff will not be surprised if there are pictures of this on the internet by morning.

On the ice, they play a highlight reel, starting with pictures from the memorial cup, and the draft, and moving on to Mike’s time with the Flyers. They show the goals and the hits and shorthanded goals in an orange uniform, the clip of Mike picking up the Prince of Wales Trophy that still makes Jeff’s stomach tight. Then, in a black jersey, they show the cups, Mike hoisting them high over his head, his mouth open on a scream that’s muted behind the music in the background.

They show the clips from the media conference in Columbus, where he pulls on the Jackets jersey for the first time, and his first goal as a Jacket, his last goal as a Jacket two games before he was injured. They show him skating with the cup wearing a blue jersey in Nationwide Arena, and the crowd grows louder at that.

The video ends with Mike walking out onto the ice, the “RICHARDS 16” stark against the dark blue. The screen fades into black after that and the message “Thank you Mike Richards” in big, white letters appears on the screen.

The crowd cheers for Mike, loud enough to fill up the whole arena. The players tap their sticks on the ice and Jeff claps because he doesn’t have a stick. Mike smiles from where he’s standing on the carpet and ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed. Later, he drops the official game puck before the game starts. He tries to shake Foligno’s hand afterward, but Foligno just wraps him up into a hug, practically lifting him off the ground, and the crowd starts cheering again. Giroux gives Mike a halfhug and doesn’t lift him off the ground, but Mike is smiling hard once he pulls back.

Jeff watches all that from the tunnel, because he wants to be here for this, but he can’t imagine himself on the ice, standing next to Mike where a wife and kinds would normally be. He can’t imagine himself there, not with twenty thousand people watching from only a few feet away and another twenty cameras pointed at him, but this is not the night for that in any case.

 

 

 

They don’t stay for the game, and by the time they get back to the car, Mike looks pretty exhausted. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. Jeff gives him a few minutes before starting the car or saying something, because he’s found that helps.

“So, McDonalds sound okay?” he asks then. They have a reservation for a nice restaurant, the kind of nice that is accompanied by a dress code and multiple courses, but looking at Mike, that seems increasingly unlikely.

Mike chuckles, loosens up his tie until it’s hanging uselessly from around his neck. “I’d like that actually,” he says. He turns his head to give Jeff a small smile, almost shy.

Back at the hotel room where they’re staying, Mike dumps the take out bag on the end table that is closest and spins around to crowd Jeff against the door. He puts his hand on the back of Jeff’s neck and pulls his down to kiss him, teeth digging sharply into Jeff’s lips. It’s rough, rougher than Jeff’s used to seeing from Mike, but he thinks this is what Mike needs right now, so he lets his hands drop to Mike’s hips and parts his lips.

They kiss until Jeff’s lips feel swollen with it, until he’s almost dizzy and needs to pull back so he can breathe. Mike just moves his lips to Jeff’s neck then, his jaw, and he uses his teeth there too. His fingers get tangled in Jeff’s tie as he pulls the knot down, and he struggles with the buttons of Jeff’s shirt until he’s got the first three undone. Mike moves his hands to Jeff’s stomach after, stroking them all the way up to his chest and over his arms so he can push Jeff’s jacket off his shoulders.

Jeff shivers when Mike grazes his teeth along his clavicle, lets his head drop against the hard wood of the door with a heavy thump. Mike pushes his thigh between Jeff’s legs, pressing along the hard line of his cock, and Jeff lets out a jagged breath. It makes him feel hot all over, almost smothering, but he leans into it, grabs a fistful of Mike’s hair and slowly pulls him back from his throat so he can kiss him again. Mike breathes into, not quite as frantic now, lets Jeff take his suit jacket off him and then his tie, even though they have to stop kissing for that.

Jeff tries to drag in his close again after, kiss him, but Mike just smirks at him, and that’s all the warning Jeff gets before Mike goes to his knees right in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, just makes quick work of Jeff’s belt and his pants, and Jeff can just stare, mouth hanging open. Mike is still dressed in half of his suit, and his pants have to be getting crumpled, his shirt wrinkled. He really doesn’t seem to care.

He smiles up at Jeff in the same easy confidence he always has, the confidence that makes Jeff’s breath come faster, his mouth dry up, and leans in to mouth at Jeff through his boxers, doesn’t stop until the fabric feels like it’s soaked. He finally stops then, takes Jeff’s dick out and starts stroking him off.

“Oh, oh fuck,” Jeff breathes out, settling his hand on Mike’s head, tanging his fingers through his hair. “Jesus.”

He thinks Mike might laugh at that, but he really can’t pay enough attention to be sure. He can only feel Mike’s lips around him, swallowing him down, and it’s so good but really not enough. It’s light, almost too light, like Mike’s teasing him.

Jeff can feel it when his knees start to shake. Mike has to reach out and steady him, a heavy hand on Jeff’s hip.

“Mike, come on,” Jeff mumbles. His voice is strung tight, same as the rest of him.

Mike notices it, pulls off to grin. “Yeah?” he says. It’s rough, and his lips are swollen. Jeff can’t help reaching out to press his thumb into Mike’s bottom lip, and he likes how Mike’s eyes darken with it. “Upstairs,” Mike says suddenly, then climbs to his feet in a more moderate speed. His knees creak, and Jeff feels a little bad for just letting him kneel on that floor like that for so long.

He winces in sympathy and Mike rolls his eyes. “You can make it up to me upstairs, come on,” he says.

Jeff, well, he can’t argue with that. He follows Mike to the bed, both of them shedding their clothes as they go, half on the floor and half on the furniture, until they’re naked.

Mike pushes Jeff to lie on the bed on his back and settles between his knees. He strokes his hands down Jeff’s thighs, pushing them over wider, and Jeff’s breath stutters. The ragged edges of Mike’s nails catch on Jeff’s skin, a little scratchy, but Jeff likes that bit the same way he likes the roughness of Mike’s palms. He looks up at Mike, wraps his leg around him so he can drag him down and kiss him.

Mike sighs into Jeff’s mouth, pressing their hips together. His hands settle on Jeff’s ass, and he rocks down just as Jeff thrusts up, and it’s pretty close to perfect. Mikes pulls back, drags his nose along Jeff’s jaw and to his ear. “Jeff, I really. I want to fuck you, can I?” he asks, voice coming out raspy and unsteady. “Can I?”

Jeff has to blink his eyes a few times to think past the feeling of their cocks rubbing together, and then he nods into Mike’s neck. “Yeah. Yeah, for sure,” he says, and can’t bring himself to care about how breathless it sounds.

Mike blows out a breath, and Jeff can tell if it’s relief or something else, and presses his lips to Jeff’s cheek. Jeff makes his legs drop to the mattress, lets Mike go so he can grab the lube and the condoms from his bag.

He’s slow opening Jeff up, even slower pushing into him. Mike is wider than three fingers, and longer, and he lets Jeff adjust to it, all the urgency from before melted away. “Tell me, yeah?” he says softly, and his lips catch on the shell of Jeff’s ear. He strokes his hand down Jeff’s side, pressing against his ribs, and up again, until Jeff nods.

Mike starts thrusting, slow and first, and then faster, but not by much. He hold himself up on his elbows on either side of Jeff’s head, and Jeff keeps him close with his legs wrapped around Mike’s waist. They kiss, steady at first and then growing a little more uncoordinated, same as Mike’s hips.

Jeff gasps and shivers under Mike when Mike gets it right, and Mike smiles against his lips and keeps going, steady and sure. He shifts until he’s holding himself up on one elbow and then runs his free hand down Jeff’s side, all the way to his knee, and hitches Jeff’s leg up higher around him. It makes Jeff feel like Mike’s even deeper, and he chokes on his breath, scrambling to get a hand between them and around his cock.

“Is that good?” Mike whispers, and his voice is rough, rougher than before.

Jeff tries to meet his eyes but Mike just buries his face in Jeff’s neck and keeps going. Jeff thinks he might be shaking. “Yeah. Yeah, it feels really good” Jeff says, turning so he can press his lips into Mike’s temple. Mike really starts shaking then, and Jeff’s shoulder starts to feel a little wet where Mike’s head is resting, but they’re both sweaty so Jeff doesn’t say anything about that. “It feels great,” he says instead, and his voice comes out rough too.

Mike nods, a few times, and he finds Jeff’s free hand, links their fingers together on the bed. It’s too tight, bruising, but Jeff can feel how Mike’s breath stutters, how the wetness on his shoulder is too much to be sweat, so he just holds Mike’s tighter, with his hand and with his legs and presses himself against him because if this is what Mike needs right now then this is what Jeff will give him.

It’s only a few seconds before Mike’s rhythm starts growing unsteady, so Jeff speeds up his hand until he spills between them. It only takes a handful of more thrusts for Mike, and then he comes, buried deep inside Jeff.

He’s shivering really hard afterwards, and now that Jeff is starting to come back to himself, he can hear the way Mike’s breath hitches every time he breathes in. “I’ll move,” Mike says, and yeah, it’s pretty clear he was crying. Is crying. “Just, uhm, just a second.”

“S’okay.” Jeff turns his head to the side so he can kiss his cheek, his temple. The corner of his mouth. Whatever he can reach. Mike still has a bruising hold on his clean hand, so he wipes the other one of the sheets next to him and uses to stroke Mike’s back. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be,” he says.

 

 

 

It takes Jeff a few minutes to go to sleep, his mind twirling around all the things that have changed in the past year. For one, he has four cats now living with him. And an aquarium full of fish that he has to feed and clean whenever Chris is not around – or, okay, that Mike has to feed and clean because he is way better and more patient with them.

He has due dates and assignments and wordcount requirements that make his palms sweaty.

He has Mike lying on the bed next to him. And Mike’s arm thrown over his side, squeezing Jeff to his chest like Jeff’s a pillow.

It’s not exactly a place Jeff would have imagined for himself, not one year ago, maybe not ever. But, he’s happy. And, you know, the hand you’ve been dealt and everything.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **WARNINGS** : At the beginning of the story, there is a description of a character sustaining a head injury. It is fairly graphic, and if you want to skip it, you can control+f to "The video cuts off", and you will only be missing a few paragraphs. 
> 
> There is a brief discussion of past painkiller abuse, and though the discussion is not explicit, the past painkiller abuse is hinted at throughout the story. 
> 
> There is detailed discussion of retirement due to injury.
> 
> Also, I think a medical disclaimer is in need seeing as I got most of the information I used off google and youtube.
> 
> I think that's it, but if you feel like there is something missing, please let me know.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] All the Things Left Unsaid](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5152574) by [grayraincurtain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayraincurtain/pseuds/grayraincurtain)




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